


Fallen

by Musicians_Lyre



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Advisor Yoko, Alternate Universe - Royalty, And John too, Angst and Tragedy, Aunt Mimi is an MVP, Betrayal, Currently ‘on hold’, Fallen Nobility, George and Ringo will be nobles too, Getting to Know Each Other, It's tough to be Paul, McLennon, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Power Imbalance, Prince John - Freeform, Princess Cynthia, Slow Build, Squire Paul, goes from friends to lovers, kind of in a mental rut, then lovers to enemies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:06:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 108,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23218978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Musicians_Lyre/pseuds/Musicians_Lyre
Summary: "In life, there can be no double victories in battle.  One triumphs and proceeds to write history, and the other... loses and are left at the mercy of the 'winners'."--A tragic tale of a fallen noble who serves a growing noble.  Hearts will be shattered as they will be built.  A story that will tell that the truth truly hurts.Without spoilers, it is a bit of a McLennon story, and ends with it teetering around it for one's love would never die as long as he has him near him.
Relationships: Cynthia Lennon/John Lennon, John Lennon/Paul McCartney
Comments: 23
Kudos: 30





	1. A Bitter Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> I am still writing the other book, just wanted to get this idea onto paper before it flew off. It was all over the place today.  
> I mostly have the ending built in mind, so setting the ground will be interesting.
> 
> Thank you for reading~ Let me know what you think below.

**\--**

_"Jamie, do you like the stars?"_

_A soft voice as tender as her caresses stirred the child from his near to slumber state. Any minute more of this kindness would've lulled him to snores and comfort, unresponsive to the world around him. The woman's thin hands were gently caressing his dark as ebony hair as if he was a subject that needed only the lightest of care to keep from shattering into millions of pieces._

_The boy's head was nestled on her lap, drawing as much warmth as he could into his shivering body. If she was not around him, he wasn't sure where he would be able to stop feeling so cold. She was such a lovely presence, so beautiful and sweet.. the little boy of barely ten years found nothing was more important than being with her._

_She who gave him life, held his little hand in her longer, smiling wide as if Heaven shone down upon him, treating him like a Prince._

_"I do.." he brought his small hand to his lips, contemplating to bite upon it while feeling his Mother's loving gaze upon his head too big for his little shoulders. "Not as much as I love Mummy."_

_A quiet laugh escaped her rosy lips, her hand stopping around his head in favour of bringing her other hand to the small of his back, rubbing crescents upon his tummy. Seeing her not reprimand him for childish gestures, he slipped a finger past his lips and lightly bit upon the phalange._

_"Does Mummy love.. her Jamie?"_

_It was silly to ask, as any Mother would nod and coo their child, professing every word that equated to love and adoration, be it lies or truths, but he wanted to hear it. He wanted to hear the truths that his Mother told him every day and every night. It was not possible for her to lie, he believed, and that was why he wanted to hear it again and again._

_If she would be the only person to love him, he was alright with it. He was fortunate to have a father and a little brother who did as well, but somehow... hearing it from his Mother who, with all possible effort, made sure she spoke words he understood._

_"You would not be my Jamie if I hadn't loved you."_

_Her hair ticked his neck as she lowered herself to tenderly kiss him on his forehead, brushing the near-black locks away from his face. The child's big doe eyes stayed at her, smiling as if it was the only thing he could do in her presence. Her eyes, hazel as his, her hair, black as his, and skin pale as his—she and he shared the same blood. He shared his words and manners with his father but was overjoyed to know he resembled his mother._

_In a way, he had something of her that showed with every step of life._

_"I love you, Mummy."_

_She smiled back and it was the only light he wanted to see in the beautiful night. The stars and moon didn't shine as lovingly as his Mother had, dressed in all white with specks of gold that complemented her dark hair—accentuating her hazel eyes and keeping modesty around her._

_She was truly beautiful._

_"Do you love your Father too?"_

_The boy sleepily nodded._

_"Yeah, of course. I love Da'." Sheepishly, he shifted his gaze from her, adding with a mumble. "I love Michael too."_

_His Mother's smile made it worth being loving._

\--

On the sill of pale marble, he found himself gazing at the sky that was once so starry, full of little specks of light to guide the lost travellers to the direction where the light stood. The moon was shy, only revealing a thin crescent that barely held the light it borrowed from the sun, but somehow it hid the stars that constantly shone.

Perhaps he was losing sight of his own life that he could no longer see the twinkling fragments of light.

Heaving a deep sigh, he kept his gaze skyward, resting his head on his left palm, elbows pressing onto the marble surface that was sturdy as the blade that ended the gifts of lives. Perhaps it was his destiny to be imprisoned before he could find out his noble purpose of protecting the people his father had bestowed upon him.

So many times, he read in stories that he was supposed to be the ray of hope of the people. They would be living in prosperity, having their own trials and tribulations, but merging joyfully as their saviour smiled down upon them. They would be gazing up at him as he was at the stars that were wiped out from the sky of darkness.

Maybe they were, and like the stars that shine, he wasn't there. Who knew how many waited for him to extend his hand and give them what they needed.. how many were asking for assistance from him, but his ears were closed off due to inability to do anything?

If Mummy was here, she would be able to tell him that he needed to keep his heart open and ears big for those needy, and if Daddy was here, he would be able to give him strength to provide and etiquette to present himself to them. If Michael was here, he would at least be able to lessen the burden by sharing it.

Who was he now? Just...

"Ey Paulie, you still awake?"

A cipher. Just a belonging of someone else.

Barely turning to address the lad who was supposed to be sleeping, he hummed in response. He didn't have the life to be spending with a little guy who had no idea how big of a Crown would be crushing his head. He wasn't supposed to be sitting on a little perch, wondering when his Mother would return from Heaven. He shouldn't have been glowering in hatred of the sky that was dark, either laughing or mourning with him.

He wasn't fated to be watching over anyone who wasn't his brother. Especially not one with his destiny in his hands.

A clueless wart.

"Ye should get some sleep, ye can glare at the sky all you want in a dream." The noble-boy mumbled, rubbing a hand around his eye to focus. Paulie—the stupid nickname the boy gave him, shifted a low gaze at him. Paul had often forgotten that this boy could end his life with a snap of his fingers the minute he finds his gaze unfitting. The minute he minds Paul's presence, he could order his removal, and back to the streets he would be, or worse, tortured and maimed before being left to die.

Paul had to hold in the bitter taste of loss back into him, keep it only in his heart, not on the surface where he could see it.

"Yes, of course, M'lord." He gave a weak smile, and the noble-boy scoffed.

"Come off it, Paulie-bunny. I told ye when we're alone, just call me John." He propped himself on his elbow, glancing at Paul with a lazy smile—still sleep heavy. Paul almost raised a proud brow at the fact that this boy, who was practically married to sleep, woke up to check on him.

"Can I call you Lenny too?"

That elicited a laugh from the noble boy. Paul shouldn't have been smiling at the hearty laugh emitted from the slightly older boy, but he was. It got his attention off the damned sky that he was growing to hate every minute that went by.

"Gosh Paulie, such acidity doesn't suit your voice," John sighed after, relaxing himself, "nor your cherub face."

"I don't look like a cherub." Now Paul scoffed, almost irritated at the association as flashes of his Mother returned to him. It really was true that children were unaware of the stuff that escape their lips. John was a good example of that. If he knew how much that comparison had shot Paul like a bullet into the little of his heart..

The only thing that kept him from killing the future Crown Prince was that John had nothing to do with the hatred too deep inside of him. John wasn't the one who plunged blades through his family, who shamed the once strong and proud name of the McCartney.. no, he was just a stupid lad that didn't think before speaking.

It almost had Paul punching him for saying something hurtful before trying to retract it with, "I didn't mean it". Of course, he meant every word. People only express what they mean, be it good or bad, lawful or criminal, kind or cruel. All of it came from a thought or feeling, and for John, it was out like a book whose pages were ripped out and spread out for everyone to see like a poster.

He wasn't tactful in the slightest bit.

"How can ye tell me that when you have literally these chubby cheeks and big eyes?" John almost squished his cheeks, but since the window was far from the bed he was resting on, he poked his own cheek that wasn't as cutely full of baby-fat as Paul's were.

Paul rolled his eyes.

"If you say so, my liege."

John then pursed his lips, shifting smugly to one side before huffing.

"Paulie's a cherub. That'd be my first decree."

Paul shook his head.

"Oooh, that must be one huge decree to follow."

"Yeah, anyone in denial would get the Lenny spanks."

Paul lowered his eyes and glared in disbelief. The load of garbage that spews from him sometimes.. was he really a noble man?

"I sure wouldn't want that." And he was serious about that. Who would want to be violated by a wanker like him? Certainly not Paul who was just a string away from considering taking the lad's life.

"Then obey that, bunny." John's eyes went lower. "But honestly, I wouldn't want you to. Giving a spanky to that tushy would be great."

"Sod off."

Golly, how was he going to live the rest of his life with this idiot? How many days had it been since he was assigned to him? Eight days? It was not too long ago that he was practically thrown into this middle-aged lady's arms with an order to teach the future's hope all that needed to know in order to become a good King. The middle-aged woman, seeing how small and young the boy was, told him that she would provide him with clothing and a room since they had extra in this small fortress.

Paul didn't want to owe her, so he refused at first—believing that death was a better answer than being a Retainer to someone he had no heart for. He only wanted to serve his family, be a good example to those under his fingertips, not be wrapped under another's—under their mercy.

Oh God, how he hated it.

He was left with no choice when the lad who he was assigned to—immediately pleaded to her to let him stay. Paul realized there was no way out of this predicament. There was no way back after screwing up when the father of the lad was still deciding what to do with him. If he hadn't shown such vast knowledge, he could've been left on the street, soon be buried with his family—and that would've been better than having to bow to someone equal to him. It was bothersome to call him his superior knowing it was littlest thing to be true.

John was his name. Lennon would be the name he stands onto when he succeeds his father. At this moment, he was stripped to be a John Smith, under Mary Smith—his Aunt. John's Aunt was never referred to by her name, but as "Mimi" instead, and somehow, that gave Paul a little relief. He wouldn't have to keep remembering his Mother every time he seen the woman wearing her name out.

He didn't want the image he already had change.

Eight days it had been since he was placed into this cubicle called his life sentence. Apparently, he was supposed to be grateful that the Lennon family found worth in him after an hour of testing him. Not knowing who they truly were, Paul went by his instinct and wanted to offer the Royals all that he had before they dropped him into the river for polluting the Kingdom with his slumped back on the cold floor.

He offered them manners that he would've lived with had he been Crown Prince, knowledge of the world around him and various strategies for battle had there been any. The Royals were so impressed, they informed that they would give him a gift for such intellect, and that led him here.

These eight days he spent with "Mimi" and John. The woman was so unlike his Mother despite the same name. His Mother was beautiful, delicate like a flower and soft as a wing of an Angel, and Aunt Mimi was tough as nails, standing up to John's stubbornness like a lioness facing a tiger and rising out unscathed. She was hard-headed and rather strong, Paul found that she was the person John absolutely needed in order to become a Prince that feared no one.

That being said, her knowledge around Academics were limited, and perhaps that was where Paul stepped in. Paul was given the best studies at his tender age, learning four times faster than a regular child—perhaps why he had grown so gloomy unless he was with his Mother. His heart was often open with her as she spread her loving arms to hold it when no one else would.

It was like having doors closing upon him when she left. Why she had to go? He didn't know, she wouldn't say. His heart closed with her inability to fold her arms.

With Aunt Mimi around, he was able to keep that in check. She didn't bother asking him anything more than what he was teaching John, what he wanted in terms of meals or clothes, but nothing more that would tap into Paul's shell. He was grateful she didn't have a large hooter for that.

"Can you _really_ tell me to sod off, Paulie?" John drew him out of his thoughts with a long-winded question, emphasizing almost every syllable incorrectly. Paul removed his head from his palm as he let his arm fall upon the cold surface of the windowsill. He still had a forced smile.

"It's pretty much my duty to correct you, so yes." John rolled his eyes then, not liking the matter-of-fact tone that Paul had. "Besides, would it kill you to call me _Paul?_ "

"Don't be cheeky."

"Too bad, I can't stop being cheeky." When Paul pulled his own cheek, John burst out laughing, completely awake now.

"You really said that, oh Christ."

"I can't deny what is shown on the surface."

John wondered if he would ever have the privilege to see Paulie smiling for real. Would it kill him to react happily for once? He had constantly drawn straws, finding ways to get the little lad to laugh or show a bright smile, but every time, he only got a roll of eyes, a slight glower, or both with a quip.

It really didn't suit his adorable as hell features. Heck, Paulie had the prettiest set of eyes, long eyelashes that extended so long without any applied work upon it, hazel eyes that were green one time, then grey another, then with flecks of brown like a beautiful scene of nature, adorable cheeks that often had a tint of rose, accentuating how pale and pristine his skin was. Full, pouty lips and lovely black hair that was combed down with care.

He was too pretty to be a mere commoner his father brought in. Of course, he didn't know the details, being ten years of age and all, but Paulie had to be something of a higher status than Aunt Mimi. Mimi was like a gremlin in noble clothing—not that she was horrible. No, just so hard-headed, he could've sworn she was raised by ogres.

Paulie on the other hand, was so full of manners and such finesse that did not suit a lower status person. The first day he was brought in and bathed, he was offered tea by Aunt Mimi who was introducing him to John, and John saw it there. Paul held his cup gently, keeping a couple of fingers from touching it like how he saw haughty Royals do. People who were outside the Kingdom didn't have enough education for that.

Yet, here Paulie was. Yes, he refuses to call him Paul because he does not suit a "Paul". He was better off being a Paulie, be married off to a woman who could fulfill the Prince role—seeing as his Retainer, teacher, whatever he was supposed to be, was pretty much a Princess.

He did not eat often—at least, not with John and Aunt Mimi. He did not sleep until the two were, cared for the gardens when John was not force-fed with lessons, he was like a shadow in the small fortress, and John was determined to become friends with him. At least, so that his lessons could lighten up, and perhaps get Aunt Mimi off his back.

She did seem to like the ponce that was Paulie.

It's been a long while since he's had such fun with someone, exchanging quips without the other giving up and not speaking to him ever again. Eight days, and John had not grown tired of him as he did with people after eight minutes of being with them.

He wanted to have Paulie as the first name on his list of friends.


	2. A Fated Friendship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John and Paul are about 10 and 8 at this moment. My first book had pre-established pairs, this one is going to build gradually upon it. As it is a power-imbalance story, we'll see how far it goes.
> 
> Italics are Paul's memories/thoughts.

_**\--** _

_The child was a little too small to be carrying such a brandished weapon that claimed lives of man. While glorified as the object that protects one from the evil, it sure was heavy. He could barely lift it unlike the older man who swung it without any hesitation, standing tall and proud underneath the sun that shone down upon him._

_He was gallant, and the child wanted to learn how to be the same. If it served as it should, with this skill, he would be able to keep his Mother closer. She would never have to fold her arms in prayer, fearing the worst to befall them. With this blade, he would be able to guard his little brother as his duty stands._

_He would be able to protect an entire nation!_

_But first, he had to be able to carry the weight in his little hands. Blistered and bleeding, he dropped the wooden stick that was his medium to the higher stage of training—the blade itself. He glanced up with big doe eyes at his father who, with a firm grasp of a warrior, sheathed the blade into its place, hearing a click as it went._

_There was no way he was going to be able to swing it any time soon. Not if he can't swing a wooden mockery of the metal beauty._

_"Da', is there a way to help me with...". With his gaze upon the grass in shame, he lifted his tiny hands, showing his father the abuse it was under. Ugly blotches were in his father's sight, as awful as the boy's inability to wield the blade. The child didn't meet his eyes for fear of anger boiling within his dark irises, for a glare to reach his heart, and a spit upon his soul._

_He wasn't running his race, simply showing himself as a useless piece of junk, unworthy of the future gifts._

_Swallowing a lump in his throat, he shut his large eyes. He was so cowardly, he couldn't even face his Father with a stare his way and charging head-on. How was he going to face anyone if_ _he was this scared?_

_Truly shameful. It's no wonder his Mother pities him._

_The child counted seconds in his mind, waiting for that huff and a fed up blow to his head. He awaited the hurtful words to spill after—if his head did not crack and leave him to die._

_None of it came._

_Instead, a gloved hand reached for the soft head of his hair, ruffling the fluffy strands. Opening his eyes, he lifted his gaze up to his father, wondering if it was a last rite before he would be sent off somewhere. His eyes met his Father's, who didn't have a frown or a scowl, but a small smile._

_"Son, soon you will be strong."_

_The child's eyes widened, not expecting encouragement from his usually stern and focused Father._

_"You need to take care of yourself in order to take care of others." His hand shifted from his head to his little palms. "Have your Mother look after this first. When it heals, you can return to this."_

_"Will I be as good as you, Da'?"_

_"Time will tell, son." He laughed. "I didn't become this in a day, nor in a year. You are my son, you have a penchant for quick learning."_

_The child gaped with big eyes. Purely amazing, his Father was._

\--

July 6th.

The Squire shook his head at the sight of the Prince writing yet another incorrect answer. It was the evening of the next day, and it was spent in showing the young Crown Prince how to solve hypothetical public issues. First it was mathematics and history, and now it was more of Paul seeing how much the Prince knew of the place he was eventually going to rule.

Sure, he was only 10, but the King—the lad's father, had ordered Paul to stuff as much as he could before he is decommissioned. It was his responsibility to teach John as much as he could. Paul didn't quite know why he complied, but he did. The King was giving him a chance that another had taken away. Paul had no right to be expressing such distaste to the man who was illuminating a hole of light in his pit of darkness.

Perhaps his mother sent him to the boy.

The thought of his mother wishing for Paul to survive and serve the Crown Prince assisted in ridding of his reluctance.

Seated on a rather comfortable chair in the Prince's little study, he was observing the Prince think, biting the top of his pencil after underlining as much as he could from the hypothetical problem, but drawing blank. The lad was sprawled over the table to hide his answer from Paul's judging gaze.

He was meaning to evaluate him, guide him if his direction was too far off, but it wasn't welcomed by John. The Prince kept ordering, "pay attention to the view outside. I want to try writing why I thought this would work before you wave your finger at me!"

With a sigh, Paul turned around. The Fortress that the King had John placed in was not that large to begin with, so he couldn't expect a room that would fit no more than 5 people. If it was the Kingdom, the Prince's study would've been this entire Fortress. It had a table that was pressed to the grey marble embossed walls. Crimson and gold emblems of the Lennon Kingdom adorned the walls proudly, reminding Paul who he was teaching and looking after.

It was nice that he was not imprisoned during his stay away from the Kingdom. It was a comfortable place, and John had the free will to do anything he liked, just as long as he studied and trained well enough. Aunt Mimi was the cornerstone he needed.

At least, to Paul's observation.

Thinking of the Aunt, he pushed the wooden chair behind and stood up, remembering John's quip about the sight of outside being better than his chicken scratch and considered to help the lonely Aunt.

He was at the door when he turned slightly to address him.

"When you're done, do call me, Your Highness."

Paul almost expected a flip of the bird sent his way for his tone, but John only turned with a pout on his cutely childish face.

"I'm better off not doing this at all." He mumbled, before shouting, "and call me John!"

Paul turned away from him, scoffing.

"Your father wants this. Besides, he'd have my head put in public display if I call you without formality."

John swore, "to hell with what that old fart wants, he probably doesn't even know I'm alive."

That didn't sink as well as it should've. Paul should've been out the door and helping John's Aunt as there was no reason for him to meddle more with the Prince while he worked. Yet, he felt compelled to stay in place. Just the thought of the King, the honourable man not believing in his pride and joy's existence was unbelievable. Who wouldn't be happy they had an heir to the Throne in a world where women were condemned for breathing?

Paul had seen the way his father bestowed the best upon him. It wasn't possible for a Prince to have a father who didn't bother meddling with the future's hope. They always made sure that their offspring kept their reputation the way they created it: perfectly.

That burden was higher with a son who succeeded the King.

"That's not possible, Sir. He very well knows you are alive, he wishes only the best from you..."

At that, the Prince set his pencil down with a slam upon the leaves of paper. It crinkled under the pressure, but the pencil kept it from flying amok. Then he turned his head to face the Squire who glanced at him oddly.

"If he really did care, why'd he send me here? Why doesn't he ever see me himself?"

Paul didn't think he should overstep his boundaries, he probably had no permission to ask the Crown Prince of his life, but he did, wanting to have a reason to cease the constant wisecracks between them. He was going to be living with John for a long time, a longer time than his little hands could count, he might as well start trying to create a bond with him.

It might be something necessary for John's growth, and peace for Paul's unsettled heart.

"Have you.. met your father?"

Almond eyes glared into big doe eyes with an attempt to devour him, consume him with repugnance, shouting words of loathing, abhorring through his eyes. Would Paul be still staring at him with such innocence in his eyes knowing that his father was nothing to him? Would Paul feel sorry for the pathetic lad who hadn't had a father willing to pat his head and express his pride of having a son?

John's eyes didn't leave his, bearing deep, searching.

Was it possible for a little Squire who hadn't a lucky life of lavish and care to understand him? If John had more knowledge, he would've been able to read the messages etched in the younger boy's eyes, but alas, he only knew his eyes were strong. It was not the gaze of a child who had no idea of the bigger topics of life, but the eyes of a boy who knew more than he let on.

Despite those big eyes so child-like and like a baby, they didn't waver for a second. John was staring at a child who had lived a life before stepping into John's. He was guiding John with experience of his own, not baseless books with words too big to understand.

John couldn't keep up, gnawing on his little lip and casting his gaze downward. Paul's eyes were too shielded for John didn't have the knowledge to see it clear.

He might as well answer his inquiry to the best of his abilities.

"No."

Paul's solemn features softened with a small gasp.

"Mum's told me he wanted daughters more."

Paul didn't really know a lot about John's parents, but this statement alone had anger welling up in him. What parent says that? Every child was a gift of theirs, even if they didn't turn out the way they wanted them to be. Unless they were just too cruel.

John wasn't cruel. It seemed that he was rejected before he could prove himself to them. That was harsh.

"D'you have sisters now?" he wasn't sure how much he could really ask John. He was treading on thin ice, but he didn't want to lose that ignited spark between them.

He had to know.

"Dunno." John removed his hand from the book that closed itself, mumbling with a shrug of his shoulders. His hands fiddled with one another as he shrank on the chair, slumping to himself as if he was closing the connection.

The child didn't truly belong in a Kingdom that was only going to chain him down, he was.. different from them. "Mum left five years ago, 's why I'm here."

Paul could only let a shuddered breath in.

"Mum nor Dad want me. I can see why." John's eyes lowered, staying on the ground. "I wouldn't even want me."

For once in his life, the Squire was at loss of what to do for another person. This Crown Prince who was living the life he was supposed to, absorbing knowledge to exceed his own, who should've had overbearing parents brag about his every movement was not living the life of rose-tinted glasses. It was as if he was worse off than Paul was.

So much for thinking the worst had befallen him, here was a child who was living with the fact that while his parents were alive, didn't want anything to do with him. Just how cold must a parent be to cast aside a child so young—one who has yet to do wrong? Paul couldn't live with that. He couldn't just leave the Prince alone the way they did.

Balling his hands into fists, Paul gnashed his teeth. If he had a blade, he might as well plunge it into those selfish bastards the way those people did to his parents and little brother.

No one should be drowning in the same river of gloom, forever in his heart.

Twirling back to face John, Paul stared down at him. He wasn't upset in the Prince—no no, that was the last person he should be directing this fury to, but he needed to set it right. He had to correct the wrongs of John's parents, be what John had lost in those five years.

John didn't meet his gaze, didn't acknowledge the Squire who crept closer and closer till their feet nearly touched. He kept his eyes on the dark floor that contrasted with the light walls. He didn't want to see the Squire in his moment of weakness, in this time where he had ripped his heart out and threw it at the Squire to see.

"Your Highness.." the mumble went ignored. Paul closed his eyes before raising his voice, hoping to rid of the bubbles of hesitation. "John."

John then glanced up, facing up with wider eyes. Paul's gaze had nothing but warmth, such tenderness he had never seen before. His Aunt Mimi often had soft eyes under her hard exterior, but it was with compassion, the eyes of an Aunt who was determined not to leave him alone after his mother and father have. Paul's were of mutual understanding—he knew exactly where he was coming from.

From abandonment different.

Aunt Mimi did say Paul didn't have people he could run to, but he didn't think she meant the ones he cared for were no longer living on this earth.

"Paulie...?"

He didn't want to break into tears in front of him. Paul was no Aunt Mimi. Paul was a bloke he had no clue about, just coincidentally soft like a bird, a caged bird.

"If your parents couldn't bother with loving you.. then let me."

Paul's tightly clenched fists uncurled as they came to a rest upon John's fiddling fingers. How could such small hands hold such strength to stand tall?

"For as long as His Majesty is concerned, I won't leave you behind."

"Ye won't leave...?" John wanted to smile and enfold the boy into his arms, but first he had to test the waters. "Even if he'd try to kill you?"

"I'll kill him for trying." The lack of hesitation was admirable. It gave him ground to stand upon and be a pillar for John. "He never said I can't befriend you."

John could only stare in amazement, noticing Paul was almost smiling.

"Yer one smug snake, Paulie."

"Oh please, I need a reason to keep myself from ripping my hair off out of boredom."

"If yer goin' to hurt that poofy hair of yours, I'm going to have to make another decree."

"What? Paul can't shed hair?"

"Paulie can't _rip his hair off_. Difference."

Paul shrugged, closing his eyes with a huff.

"Compelling point."

"I'm very compelling, Paulie."

"Sure..." the Squire only rolled his eyes when he lifted the lids. "But I'm serious, my Liege."

"If yer serious, call me John, and John only. Or Lenny." He snorted at the 'Lenny' suggestion.

"A'ight, John." John smiled. "Let's make these tasks less bothersome, okay?"

"Will you...?"

Paul raised a curious and interested brow.

"Will you really be my friend, Paulie?"

The Prince probably wanted a handshake to confirm it, Paul wondered, but not considering it necessary.

"Of course." It might be a long journey, but Paul wanted to know what caused the King and Queen to dismiss their son to his Aunt. This was one of the few things he had never studied upon, and with John, he would be able to figure it out.

A press on his fingers had him glancing down, seeing John squeeze his hands with his own in acknowledgment. Perhaps this was a first time for him to have someone beyond formal binds. Someone who would stay simply because they could, and not because someone had forced them to. While Paul was not as altruistic as it sounded, he did have an inkling of a need to stay even if the King disapproves.

John deserved a friend, that much, he knew. No one should be abandoned in this vast world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this story so far~


	3. A Bad Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some misogyny in this chapter, has to do with the timeline perspective. A little fair warning of a possible jump-scare in between the dream sequence.

_\--_

_All he was able to see was red._

_Utter darkness surrounded him, with the only flickers of light arising from the crimson flames that burned down the land. Trees crackled as the fire spread around it, consuming it in seconds and causing it to fall upon the ground, spreading the rage of the burning fire._

_The child was a step away from incinerating himself had he refuse to take a step back with the thought of checking on his little brother who could barely walk. His little baby was playing with him in the fields that extended through long horizons, a terrain for them to discover like an Adventurer in the novels he read. The green that extended beyond their scope of vision, always intrigued them with the need to see more and more, having never found the end of it._

_It was rare for the two to receive time off, away from the hustle and bustle of their lives in the Kingdom. Here, for just a moment, they were supposed to be free—with a guard watching over them, making sure he never lost sight of the children oblivious to the evils of the cruel yet beautiful world._

_This happy happening was but an hour before. An hour before when the little brother told his slightly older brother to hide so that he could seek him out and end his turn at their little game. When he didn't get a sign of disapproval from the guards, he ran away from the courtyard and into the lovely green and lively fields. His little brother would find him easily since the guards knew where he was, having watched his every step before returning._

_When the child didn't get any search parties at his tail, he figured either they were caught up on something else, or his brother had fallen asleep and were to escort him back. He decided to wait, perched on a high branch of a tree, green leaves veiling him from the public eye._

_Even Mother Nature sought to protect the child, hiding him from any being of life had they try and catch him._

_Finding that it certainly had been a long time being in the company of the tree, he climbed down the long and sturdy bark, careful enough not to scar his fingers with splinters. What caught his eye was the lingering smog within the sky._

_Strange.. it had been a clear day just a moment ago.. when did it get so dark?_

_With the sky of baby blue gracing light upon the land, giving the green hungry grass the ingredients for food, it was a kind and lovely day to be going out upon. That was the only reason why the King and Queen had permitted the children to go out, but not far enough to be out of their reach._

_The tree was only a couple of meters away from the Courtyard, not far enough to be considered lost, yet nobody came._

_The child glanced up at the sky, the blue slowly losing its former glory as it subdued into a meek and dull grey, darkening further into a shade less radiant than the night. Something was happening at his home.. judging from the direction of the smog and soot._

_Swallowing a heavy lump in his throat, he darted gazes around to see if any guard was around to keep him safe as he proceeded to run back. He couldn't understand why there was no one in sight. Why wasn't there anyone around to call him out or hoist him on their hip, riding their horse to confine him to his room for safety measures?_

_Wouldn't this be a time where he needed them?_

_Little legs sprinted as far and swift as it could, but it took more than 10 minutes for the small child to reach the gates of the Courtyard. It was starting to darken more and he was losing his sight due to the fog of what was overthrowing the sky. He continued on in case he would be able to find something that could answer his many inquiries._

_Why did it appear as though they were being attacked?_

_He hushed his gut as his instinct screamed at him to look for his little brother. If he was left behind like that, then what about his brother? Was he still in the long and wide fields? He hoped not._

_Answering his question came a projectile about to rain down upon his head. Jerking back, he jumped, hearing the loud crash upon the ground and staring in horror of what it was. It was a branch of a tree, a very large branch that almost knocked into his head and slain him had he not avoid it promptly as he did._

_The branch was pitch black as charcoal, and the boy saw and felt warmth—excessive heat enveloping it. It was a fire!_

_It was a fire on the branch that landed on the grassy ground of the Courtyard._

_Shifting his gaze to the side, he saw not only branches falling, but the trees itself, crashing onto the ground and causing ripples of short quakes upon the ground he stood on. His gloved hand landed on a thankfully dry branch before he would completely lose balance and fall, helping him stay on his feet with a wobble._

_"Michael!" he called out, searching for any open path he could cross to get away from the fire before it surrounded and burned him as it did the children of nature. The intense heat was laughing, taunting that he too, will fall like a tree and be rendered to ashes and ashes._

_He spat upon a smaller flame in contempt. Serving as a small douse, he stepped over that spot and proceeded, vowing not to burn until he found his brother safe and unscathed. Despite his youth, there was nothing that was going to stop him from fulfilling his little goal._

_No one will interfere in seeing it through._

_\--_

The Squire couldn't sleep no matter how much the bed was cradling his body.

The soft mattresses were practically eating him, commanding him to rest his weary bones, wanting to feel the press of his little figure and hear his chest rise and fall. There was no other being present within the room that the Prince's Aunt had provided him, yet he couldn't find the relaxation he was told he deserved.

After he boldly proclaimed to John that he will be friends with him even if His Majesty disapproves, he wasn't able to figure out what he was supposed to be doing. Was his goal meant to be bringing peace to the Crown Prince who was... like him, an abandoned child?

They were abandoned, but for two reasons apart. The Squire due to death, and the Prince due to considered illegitimacy. The lad that was next door was not even acknowledged as the heir to the Throne glorious and large, heavy and yet his. A truly bizarre case Paul had ever heard, as he never witnessed a son denied of his rights.

In this period of time, it was always the fair maidens who were treated as puppets, the belongings of man, not a fellow man. A lad would have more rights even as a slave than a noble woman who should be equal to her husband in that caliber. An example was himself. The King refused to call him a slave to his foolish son, but a Squire to guide the Fool. A young wise gentleman to help his little boy gain direction.

With the way the King emphasized the need for Paul to be around John, supervising almost every task, he assumed it was an undying love for his son and need for a perfect successor to his Throne.

Not a last resort. The last choice for the competition to the Throne.

With the vast knowledge that the Squire had, this had him quite practically shell-shocked. Was it possible for a father to hate his son? To treat him less important than a female? It was a rather surprising case as he never seen a father give up on a male heir.

Unless the heir did not suit it.

John was not terrible... sure, he took an awful long time figuring out the scenario Paul given him, had a wishy-washy tactic, but it wasn't anything terrible. He poured all the possible thought he could into that answer, and for that, Paul gave him a couple of points. Plans were not as easy as reciting the first ten numbers of mathematics, nor was it simple as the alphabet.

Paul had many plotholes within the scenario, testing to see which ones John would see, which he would bypass and ignore as unnecessary, and which had the most emphasis. So far, he had hit most of them, just needed a bit more into the cavalry of defense, and it would've been a solid plan.

He completed his mathematics and political works after complaining Paul's ears off about them, but they were complete and most were correct, or in the direction of it. Within these eight days of supervision, it didn't seem like John was a complete waste of space.

In fact, if he was engaged a bit more, he would be able to create something beautiful. He had potential written all over him, and a kind Aunt who believed this to be true. The sole believer that John will become a great King after his training was complete was his Aunt Mimi.

Personally, Paul thought it would've been much easier of a life if she was King. She had the presence and the charisma to raise a great army that would not fall. If she was an Advisor of his father, who knows what would've happened during that dark and horrific time.

They would've survived under her instruction. This bleak road of desolation would never have been if she was there to instruct the vassals how to fight back. If she was there, she would've recruited elite soldiers to protect his parents, his little brother and himself.

Nonetheless, it still would've been a bloody mess. Just less bloody than what he has to live with.

Paul couldn't fall asleep. He was lying in his bed awake for the umpteenth time. He didn't want to fall asleep in fear that he would see his parent's faces all bloodied up and bruised to the point of unrecognition. Every time he closed his eyes, it was with a wish that he would open them and return to his parents and little brother, with smiles on their faces and care in their hearts. He was not alone in this world and with strangers..

But life couldn't allow that peace to be. Whenever he opened his eyes, he remembered that he couldn't hope for miracles.

This was his new life, and that's all it was.

\--

_"Michael!"_

_The child called out another time, hoping that his silly and adorable little brother could just make a noise to answer back._

_Upon reaching marble grounds, the child's knees buckled, and he fell onto the pavement. He was finally at the gates of the Castle, but he was so out of breath, he wasn't sure what more he could do. Every bit of hope was fading from him when he was getting closer and closer to the truth._

_Somehow... he was starting to have a horrid gnaw in his gut, telling him that the one he is searching for was no longer present._

_Biting back a sob, he straightened himself into a standing position and took a glance back. There was nothing visible but embers of crimson and a mocking gold, burning all that stood in its way like a serpent constricting its prey. Shaking his head, he ran for the bridge that was extended out to allow entrance and ran inside._

_"Mother! Father!"_

_No response came for his shrill calls. The child could not see in the jungle of limbs, metal clinks of armour hushing his little voice and bodies blocking his vision._

_What the...? They really were under attack!_

_Suddenly, the child felt a hand at his chest and a harsh shove. His little body didn't resist, flying back into the wall and causing his eyes to see spots of black and white, unable to set a proper image. There was a dull pain in his little head, preventing him from blink away the discrepancies of his eyes. It was only because of his need to see his little brother that he glanced up to see who pushed him._

_It was one of his father's vassals trying to keep him from getting impaled by the blades of prejudice. Eyes wide, he saw the armoured man slay his opponent before he cornered the child and lifted him with his free hand._

_"My Prince, you should not be here. Not now..."_

_"What is happening, Sir Lucius?"_

_The vassal—Lucius, raced through the large and spacious halls in a couple of steps. For the child, it would've been another twenty minutes before he could reach the other side of the Castle's floor. The soldier avoided the others in battle in favour for escorting the Crown Prince to his chambers._

_Reaching close, he released the child before bending down his level._

_"You have to stay in your chambers. We're under a siege." Standing up and immediately intercepting a slash his way, he spoke again. "You must not be found. Please, stay inside!"_

_The child nodded, watching Lucius take the life of the invader with wide eyes._

_"My Liege, please do not open your door until you know it's His Majesty!"_

_"Yes Sir!"_

_The child shut the door as Lucius gave him a kind smile as if it was his last._

_When silence overtook him, he took in deep and heavy breaths to calm his erratic body threatening to spill his guts out. What have they done to be under a siege of all things? They never made opponents along the way, treat someone under the standard... They gave to charity._

_Why were they attacked like savages?_

_The child held back every bodily urge to scream and cry, having thought of his little brother that was still somewhere in the midst of it all._

_"Michael! Mikey! You here?"_

_To his relief, he saw a tiny figure on the large bed of his. With the last ounces of his energy, he ran over to the bed and reached for the child. His little brother's head was downcast, so the child couldn't see what expression he was holding on his weeping figure._

_"Mikey.." he threw his little arms around his baby brother, but froze at how cold his brother felt. It was as if he wasn't..._

_"You did this."_

_Unable to move, the child was pushed by his little brother who gazed at him with lifeless eyes. His skin was dangerously pale and blotchy as if bruised, and horrifically, he was bleeding through his lips and eyes._

_"You did this!"_

_The child began to scream._

\--

Paul's eyes shot open. In his vision was only a dark surface, and his senses told him it was too hard to be the bed. He breathed in slowly to calm his shuddering body before concluding that he was on the floor—having fell off the bed.

The image of his brother so defiled and mangled was too horrifying to witness. His words that followed it sent Paul over the edge.

Once again, he found himself wishing it was just a bad dream and stayed that way. There was no reason to be targeted by those invaders—no reason but a greedy conquest for power. It was the only one that flashed clearly.

It was the only reason to kill anyone, really.

The ground was cold under his cheek, almost comforting to his clammy and sweaty body. Oh, how he disdained the hours of sleep. He would much rather be awake and reading a book or helping John with his studies—but the latter was fast asleep as far as he knew.

Well, assumed.

Wanting nothing but an escape from those horrible nightmares called reality, he lifted his body off the floor, hearing his joints pop uncomfortably under the pressure and stepped out of the small room. There was a hope in his heart that John nor Aunt Mimi had not heard him falling or screaming out loud. At this moment, he wasn't sure if he did the latter, but the thump onto the floor could raise anyone's brows.

It was conduct unlike a dutiful Squire.

Into the hallway was a dim light from the night sky trying to guide him away from the walls or dead ends. Perhaps the sky pitied him for once, giving enough illumination to see where he was going.

He was drawn to the living room that had photographs of John's family—the King and Queen of the Lennon Kingdom, a fireplace that had a fire warming the cold surrounding, recliners of soft cotton and cushion, a rug that had an intricate design ranging from shades of red, blue to gold and white, dancing around in an elegant motion.

There was a small bookshelf to the left side of the fire-place near the corner, half of them full of the books he and John read out loud, and onto the right was a shelf with beautiful cups and dishes that he was certain Aunt Mimi worked hard to earn.

The living room was the closest to be the homeliest room in the fortress. It was soft with the tenderness of a caregiver and softer than the hardened walls all around the place, the weapons in the storage room in case of a threat, the other for supplies, the kitchen that was merely a room with a gas stove, sink and a unit that held all food.

It was a bit comfier than the rooms they were given, and the clothes and Aunt Mimi's treasures were perhaps why. It was the most decorated and held the essence of the fortress, differing from a farmhouse or a dungeon not too far off from the small town.

Seating himself on the floor near the fireplace, he ran fingers around the twirls and swirls of the rug's pattern, not bothering with the chairs as that was reserved for the housekeeper and the Crown Prince. He just needed his mind off the dreams—the bitter truth of his life.

He was beginning to think that if he stayed here, it would become a little easier to rise back to his feet. If he focused his attention on Aunt Mimi and John, he could feel less guilty for not being able to give this time to his brother or his parents.

He just hoped they could forgive him. He was doing all he could—not wasting the gift of life his mother gave to him.

A couple of minutes after boredom reached him, he went to have a glass of water when he heard shuffling. Holding an iron cup, his gaze was at the arch of the kitchen, serving as the entrance of said room. Did he wake John? Better yet, he must've woken up Aunt Mimi with his wailing.

Indeed, it was the Aunt stepping into the kitchen, appearing for reasons similar: a glass of water.

At first, she didn't register his presence as she opened a cabinet to attain an iron glass. It was when she filled it with water she almost bumped into him, realizing there was someone else in the room.

"Young Paul, you are awake..?" she didn't seem to be the kind searching for answers, rubbing her eyes similarly to John. They really were family, weren't they?

"Yeah... couldn't sleep." He answered honestly, taking a sip of the clear liquid to still the dryness.

"So, it was you who fell earlier.." her eyes were meeting his, sleep-heavy but awake.

"Yeah.. sorry."

"Don't be. We all are haunted by life, it's only natural to get a nightmare every now and then."

In a generalized view, she had a point. Death didn't necessary make life a nightmare, sometimes even living itself despite having everything could give the willies. The monsters that creep in the middle of the night, the tremours arising from wrong actions of the past...

Indeed, life was a haunting mistress.

"You couldn't sleep either?" he asked Aunt Mimi who didn't move from her spot. Paul felt her tired eyes resting on the fluff of his head. Being so small, he barely reached her waist despite her small stature.

"I couldn't, knowing one of you were having a difficult time."

When Paul turned his little head up to meet those eyes, she smiled at him.

"Paul, I do hope you find this fortress your home too."

Paul couldn't return her gesture. He almost no longer cared about his position of Royalty, but it was what came with it that stopped him from considering it. Mendips Fortress was surely something that seemed out of the map, closed off to the public, but it seemed to the Squire that accepting this as a home was like pushing aside what his parents gave to him. There was no other place that was home than where they were.

He just couldn't move without them.

"It's only been a week, but John and I have been very much appreciating your presence here."

Admittedly, it wasn't a hack by the blades of a guillotine. Mendips Fortress has been quite pleasant to say the least. John was not the travesty they made it sound. Helping Aunt Mimi with small tasks as chopping vegetables and setting out the clothes to be washed was very much the same as his duties with his Mother.

John was still learning, but he lied when he proclaimed on the first day of Paul's arrival that he will be eaten alive by the gremlin that was Aunt Mimi.

He wasn't eaten alive yet..

"Thank you, Missus." A smile made its way around Paul's face. While he couldn't call the Fortress his home, his smile was genuine.

"Come off it, just call me Mimi."

"Perhaps later."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading~


	4. A Kind Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for 100 hits~
> 
> This one is a very soft chapter. It's probably one of my favourites so far.
> 
> I have to admit, I do have to change the tags a little bit. I might increase the ratings because future plans calls for this fic to be quite dark.

**\--**

The Squire refused to sleep that night. He didn't care if he was going to be tired in the morning. At this point, those nightmares would only return to claim him over and over again, then spit him back out, closing the gates to where his family were.

He didn't want constant reminders that he couldn't be where they were.

There wasn't a need to keep listening to the echoes of the past that dared scream at him every minute of his current waking life.

Aunt Mimi had no intention of leaving him while he was awake, it appeared. She led them out of the kitchen and into the warmth of the drawing room. Paul only entered the room when she waved a hand down, beckoning him closer as she rested herself on the recliner near the fireplace. Not one to disobey his elders, he followed her to the room, thinking of kneeling on the floor as the recliner facing her was another Throne to him—a place where he didn't belong.

He disappointed her already. It had only been a week, and he's disappointed her.

"Sit, dear boy."

"Humble apologies, I can't."

She huffed, extending her hand for him to reach.

"Come off that. You can't use that nonsense when you've helped me around this place," when Paul glanced at her hand for a couple of seconds, she raised a brow, indignant, "being my cooking assistant and teacher to that John."

Maybe now he was going to be chewed out by the beast called John's Aunt.

"Up you are." Paul didn't know if he should really provoke a tiger any more in fear that the tiger strikes back. "You can sit, eat, sleep anywhere, and talk to anyone you so wish. This is your home too."

"Yes..." He mumbled, eyes darting to the sides.

"If it would kill you to sit, at least let me give you a cushion to fall upon."

Noticing his hesitation to sit on the neighbouring recliner, she gave a light laugh before stifling a yawn, reminding the Squire that she was giving up time for slumber to be with him. Guilt began to well back inside of him, consuming him whole.

"Apologies for the trouble..."

Instead of receiving a kind, "do not fear..", he received a glare from the Aunt who stood up to bring closer a square shaped cushion that was perhaps the replacement for the seat of the recliners had one rip apart. Its mahogany velvet was thick, shining with the flickering flame's lights.

"You heard me the first time, have you not? _Come off that._ "

He really did upset her for a moment. Aunt Mimi placed the cushion behind his standing feet and pushed him to sit. It wasn't a forceful push as the child was so small, a harsh tug could call him to lose balance and hurt himself.

That, she didn't want to do.

As the Squire remained seated on the rather large cushion, he saw a smile from the Aunt return. It must've been a triumphant moment to have him listen without another trail of apologies and nonsense.

Poncy language, John calls.

Within the eight days he had been here, the Squire could tell Aunt Mimi wasn't always one for long conversations and encouraging words, but with him, she was putting effort she hadn't needed with her nephew. She was prolonging it as much as she possibly could, asking questions they both knew the answers to, and things that would naturally earn a shrug.

"Have you been writing to your parents?"

"Yeah, seldom."

"I know it has been a week, but a note a day would be great."

"Yeah."

"Would you need help in having them delivered?"

"No, I know how to send a messenger bird."

"A messenger bird? How would you know those poor things are not shot killed?"

"They might just be, Missus."

"Isn't that a bit cynical?"

"Pessimistic, it is."

He recalled Aunt Mimi, and the feeling of crossing a road that just went back to the starting point. That time, ithout him realizing, he was giggling at Aunt Mimi's sense of catching him on subtly lying. He didn't meant to lie to her, not at all.. it was just, no one had to know his parents were no longer breathing in the world they lived in, they were not around anymore.

They had crossed Heaven's gates and dissipated into the thin air, swaying in the air like stardust.

How his heart welled with respect when Aunt Mimi saw the lad gnaw on his index finger—how within a moment she noted the tension within the air and decided to change the subject. Paul wouldn't be able to adeptly change a subject that hurt, having the belief that he didn't have the feeling of understanding.

He probably didn't have any feelings, period. Just a dumb, moping mess who exaggerates his life story.

But Aunt Mimi.. she didn't have to be told that he hurt, she knew and was able to turn the leaf to something new in an instant. That was how he was still here, near the warmth of the burning logs and Aunt Mimi, driving the sleep away from him and replacing it with interest. He wanted to hear what she had beyond those iron walls. She was a human as well, capable of feeling and understanding, and he wanted it drawn out before shouldn't be able to.

"Young Paul, do you have a penchant for writing stories?"

Even there, he couldn't hold back his surprise, blinking owlishly at the woman's skill. It was a reminder that he was still too young to understand how the world works, no matter how many books he has read.

He hasn't read people.

There was a reason as to why books were written in the past tense. They were not happenings in the moment as speaking to Aunt Mimi was—he didn't know the outcome of their conversation as he did the Lord and his Angels in the scriptures. He couldn't flip a page to see a spoiler because he and Aunt Mimi were currently writing each page.

"A story, I haven't written yet." He chose his words carefully, leaning on the need to hear why Aunt Mimi was asking him a question quite strange. "I do like reading them."

It might've been the correct response, seeing Aunt Mimi's smile grow.

"John did write some ramblings here and there."

"Ramblings? He speaks them out, does he not?" the Squire couldn't help but smile at the thought of John doing a speech to his people and all he says is just nonsense about how he was going to rule over wankers, wondering why his father even bothered him to be taught when all he was, was nothing to anyone. Maybe add that he had a life of being raised by gremlins and ponces that told him to keep a stiff-upper lip, straight posture, and that he could become something big—but not what he wanted to be.

Then the Squire's brows furrowed, rubbing his lip with a thumb, bringing it to a pinch with his index finger to the corner. That was not a stupid speech—that was a cry for help. He was trying to make light of a situation, but his mind didn't bother giving him that, eh.

When Aunt Mimi handed him a crumpled piece of paper, he noticed that she had risen from her spot to fetch for it.

"He threw away some of the things he wrote, but I found this in his worksheets." She had a laugh in her voice, telling Paul that it was rather amusing. He didn't take a peek at it until she returned to the recliner. Eyeing down, he saw pencil strokes all over the page as if he was having a fit while the Squire was teaching him. Some words were crossed out at the upper left corner of the page, the right side having strange doodles of human heads but without any part of the body save for legs and a long thick hooter.

One of the strange beings had long eyelashes and big, big eyes. That little human—at least, he liked to think it was human, had actually cute features. It was one that had the most effort, it seemed. The pencil strokes were gentle along the hair and the eyelashes, and the eyes had odd sparkles on it. Resting on the head was a tiara and with odd text, said, "like a damned Princess that he is".

The Squire squinted as he read the text, glancing up at Aunt Mimi who was snickering lightly, eyeing the same image.

"Is that supposed to be me?" he almost mumbled a 'that sodding...', but remembered he was not allowed to be talking ill of the Prince he was serving. Aunt Mimi caught on his mumble, adding with a laugh.

"Such a sodding little runt, he is?"

The Squire's eyes darted up with wide eyes.

"I cannot deny my nephew's mischievousness."

"At least it's harmless.." The Squire lowered his eyes with a soft smile. Aunt Mimi ran a hand through his hair.

"That's the optimism I was looking for."

Paul kept the little smile. John was in good hands, truly, he was.

No.. it was rude to the Aunt to overlook himself in that equation. He too, was in good hands, whether he wanted to accept it or not. It could've been worse, it would've been worse, but he was denied of such cruelty. For a lonely woman that was a stranger to family, she was offering her heart to the ones who needed it most, to the boys who were so young and yet, damaged.

He couldn't dare say it was only to one boy. Had that been the case, she would've left him to lay in the bed—better yet, the floor. He would not have any meals to give him the energy to carry forward, he wouldn't be receiving smiles from John nor Aunt Mimi he would've just been a fixture in a dingy basement with the two flicking scraps and watching him crawl serpentine to eat.

He would've just been a property, a circus freak if she did not decide to extend her kindness to him too. A complete stranger.

An ever so grateful child he was raised to be, he was thankful to the seemingly hardened lady.

"Thank you, Mis—Aunt Mimi."

"Thank you too, little Paul."

Aunt Mimi kept her hand through his somehow silky tresses. For someone who was supposedly picked off the streets, he was very beautiful. A bit too beautiful that John and her dulled in comparison. How could someone who was not of noble standing appear as radiant and lovely as a Prince—elegant as if he was given the uttermost delicacies, and stand with such proper manners?

Aunt Mimi was sure that a child as he should've been illiterate, such behaviour should've been foreign to him, but when she and John seen it, it was as if he taught the world what manners were. The only flaw that stood in his characteristics was the childish biting of his fingers that reminded her that he was still so young and a virgin to the vast world. There was so much for him to learn, he still had a long life to live.

"John would murder us for seeing this, wouldn't he?" The respectful and young Squire had the crumpled and slightly ripped paper folded neatly in half, then into a smaller square before he rose, tucking it back into a book on the shelf.

"If he tries, we'll have to subdue him, wouldn't we?"

The Squire gave her a glance as his fingers touched the spine of a book, amused. It was surely nice to see the placid and rather blank child finally give a response that was not stiff politeness as if any other reaction would cost his head. It was a step towards something beautiful.

"Is that permitted to do?"

"It may not be, but the King does not rule over Mimi Smith."

For someone of the tender age, he was allowed some bits of happiness. Anyone who denied needed to see that quack Robert down the lane. No child deserved pain of any kind.

"Wow.. an untameable beast? Seems that my job has extended."

"You can try, child. You can try after you tame my nephew."

"Would I be alive at that point when he is tamed?"

She didn't miss the slight tremble of his hand when it drew off the spine of the book, the small hand slowly curling to itself as he returned to his spot on the cushion.

"You will be. No child could take John for more than ten minutes." Her hand returned to his hair, stroking the back of his head. "That tells me you are a very tough lad."

"He's not that bad..."

"That's what he wants you to think. Soften up even a little, and he will wring you out." She warned him but had nothing but a playful tone and ghosts of affection, telling the Squire that she truly cared for her nephew, and perhaps him too.

"Are you of his breed too?" he closed his eyes, hands on his lap as he sat criss-cross on the cushion. For once, it was alright to bask in the comfort of the heart of those other than his parents, was it not?

"Perhaps not anymore, for I am older and don't have his hunky-dorey energy and will to bother others."

"Hunky-dorey.."

"To have a repetition of a word.. young Paul, you must be tired. You have a long day with two beasts to survive getting lynched from." Paul only gave her a small hum. "You do not seem to want sleep."

"If I sleep, I would only be plagued by the darkness in my heart."

The Squire was not making an audition for the dramatics, Aunt Mimi could tell. Each word he chose were truths from his pained soul, the heart that he chained to the back to avoid from getting in the way of his job. She could tell he didn't want to go back there, but he was also lost. He needed somewhere to be, he needed to sleep and rest his weary, tiny body, but his soul was crying. His soul was still under attack by something she couldn't see.

Something only the one suffering could see.

"Then the gremlin would have to try and guard you, would she not?"

Paul opened his eyes, glancing at her with the innocence of his age.

"Come up, I will sing you a little lullaby I heard a kind mother sing to her crying child." The hand caressing his scalp shifted down to his shoulder, then to his arm that was clothed with a wide billowed shirt, pristine as his pale skin. When her fingers passed the ripples of his cuff, her hand caught his and pulled him up.

Even when he was standing, he was so petite. His black hair came down his cheeks neatly as if he ran a good comb across his head, fluffy and adorable. His eyes, so big and pure, unmarked by the sins of the world, shone a deep hazel and whole with care so loving, she almost envied the parents who created such a beautiful boy.

They have shown him well.

His hand was soft under her rather long and a bit bony. The boy had soft cheeks that held those wondrous eyes, a button nose and rosy lips as if he was portrait of a cherub. Prim and formal he was, dressed in a clean white shirt that was a tad bigger than his figure, with a black vest to allow the shirt to touch his skin, and black pants that hung loosely, feet covered in socks the same hue as his shirt.

How could a boy so little be a Squire? Who could dare hurt this child without batting an eye or kill themselves? She had no idea.

"A lullaby..?" he was distant in her eyes, appearing to search through the dark masses of her eyes. Knowing he wasn't going to move a step without her order, she wrapped her other hand around his waist and pulled him on top of her.

The Squire didn't struggle, but he did widen his eyes at the tug, wondering if he was in the correct position when the side of his head came to a rest upon her breast. The hand in his returned to the back his head, and the hand around his waist came down to his knees, pulling them to cradle him.

His eyes were still wide and was about to inquire her actions, but a finger to his lips silenced him.

"I have done this with John when he had nightmares, having been sent here from his parents."

"With John...?"

"He was a closed off piece of work when he came here. Acted like it was a prison or something." Aunt Mimi grumbled, but the Squire saw it was only a bite at the displeasing conduct of his parents. Even she knew that John was their gift they did not appreciate.

"Does he still think it a prison here?" he didn't know what came over him when he leaned onto her, hearing the beats of her heart.

"He must've realized that anywhere can be prison if we make it be. Even our loving homes."

He shifted his head to glance up at her.

"You were sent here on orders like a prisoner too."

The Squire was silent, keeping his gaze upon her.

"Shackled up and wearing a robe that hid you from the world's gaze. You must've felt the way John did."

He listened on.

"Does it still feel that way?"

The Squire shook his head, seemingly drawing comfort from the organ pumping blood through their system. Actions spoke better than words, and him staying close to her gave enough of an answer than any verbal word.

"That makes the old gremlin very happy."

Paul blinked.

"Surely, you are too young to be an old gremlin."

Her hands tightened around the end of his hair with a laugh.

"Flatterer, are you?"

Paul shared a laugh. It was so odd being with someone who was not his Mother and have a feeling so similar. Were women all Mothers at heart?

"Now, let me sing you a lullaby to get those nightmares scared."

"It couldn't be a ballad.. would it be a powerful song?"

"Perhaps it would be."

\--

"The gremlin kidnapped the Princess while I was asleep. The gremlin kidnapped the Princess, the gremlin kidnapped the Princess, the Princess was stolen." The Prince repeated over and over again in a deadpan tone like a mantra as he stepped to the living room. The child was nestled soundly on Aunt Mimi's lap. His Aunt had her arms protectively around the child as if she was protecting him.

John had never seen a gremlin seem so noble.

Aunt Mimi's eye slowly fluttered open, registering John's presence, who was still repeating his silly phrase. Oh, if the Squire knew he was being called a Princess...

"Quite a literal kid nap, it is."

"Release him or face my wrath, Meems."

Aunt Mimi only rolled her eyes, hushing him. "He's only fallen asleep two hours ago, don't disturb him."

"Disturb who..?"

Mimi then huffed, seeing the little Squire blink. He didn't seem particularly perturbed, just glanced from Aunt Mimi, then to the Prince, then back to the boy's Aunt before realizing where he was.

"Oh my gosh!"

John snickered at that. "My Teach's too young, after all."

The Squire stuttered between using casual and formal terms, jumping from "My Liege" to "John", but completing neither. Aunt Mimi allowed the boy to hop off by removing her arms, presuming that now, this boy was definitely not going to return sleeping. She just hoped that he didn't have a nightmare while he had his little kip.

"How about some brekkie, little kiddos?"

Standing up from the recliner, she glanced at the clock before heaving a sigh. If the Squire only slept for two hours, that meant they were talking to each other for about four hours. That was more than she talked in a family gathering!

"Of course, thank you Missus." Aunt Mimi balled her fist but gave Paul a smile, who was smiling kindly. She thought they were past the whole "Missus and Prince" stuff. She thought her talk with him would finally get him to just say "Mimi and John", as they were not going by hierarchy in the Mendips Fortress.

Formalities were only where the pretentious lived, who drank wine with diamonds for ice cubes, and had tables to feed twenty people only for two.

"Both of you wash up. I don't want to see sand in your eyes." She huffed again, heading to the kitchen and avoiding the two children.

"Paulie, I think ye angered the Meems." John deadpanned once more, glancing at Paul who just blinked at him. Somehow, with just waking up it seemed he had upset the two.


	5. A Floral Gift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, Squire in this story means Teacher. It was supposed to be Scribe, but somehow I forgot that word existed. He's John's teacher and attendant who is training him to be proper Prince in the future. If he did not lose his position, he would've been a Knight within a year.
> 
> Thank you for reading~
> 
> EDIT: I did say we'll meet two familiar figures in the next chapter, but while writing, it got too long so it's going to be in the chapter after the one I'll post tomorrow.

**\--**

July 30th.

The Squire's days were divided in two to three parts. The first half was to be spent with the Prince, teaching him a different lesson every day so that he would not be bored easy, and the other half was spent with Aunt Mimi, helping the Squire understand the future tasks he might be helping John do.

There was a chance that he would still be by John's side when they return to the Kingdom in a decade's time. For that, Paul would have to prepare John in everything he could possibly teach him, and it wasn't just Academics. It was posture, how to breathe, how to walk, greeting superiors and those who he could interact with, preparing sermons and performances, and the later lessons be on courting his possible bride.

Paul was only doing the Academics because it was easier to learn when the mind was still young and fresh. It didn't mean that John and Paul spent time studying all day. The Squire was quite clever with his methods, not always being the one with the stick and pointing at a black board or a textbook and dictating what the Prince needs to know and what is not necessary.

Many times, he had John learn in a form of games. These games were done in various methods, ranging from fiddling with a map and searching for the location in which some events have occurred, going to botanic books and seeing which flower matched the picture he was given, word searches throughout the house, and even role-plays.

The Squire had to admit, the role play part was not what he was fond of doing. Often, the Prince would be calling him "Princess", which earned an arch of an eyebrow, and a, "you do know I'm just a Squire?"

The Prince often replied with a barking laugh, "you won't ask me to change it to Prince?" but often miss the Squire gnawing on his lip at the question of his position. If John knew he was a Prince, would he be so casual about it?

None of it mattered, since his Kingdom had fallen, so his position to be, is not to be.

"Hei John, do you want a break today?"

The Squire shifted his gaze from the work on the table to the Prince who was scribbling listlessly. It didn't seem to register to the Prince that he was being spoken to, and not evaluated. Not hearing a sort of answer from him, the Squire returned to the papers splayed in front of him.

With a feather quill in his left hand, Paul had his right hand upon the book to keep it in place as he checked the Prince's answers. For about two weeks under his supervision, and John was steadily improving. He really was a fast learner, Paul concluded. The questions had rough answers, they were hard to read, but they were on the right track.

The Squire took a moment to run his fingers along the quill ink strokes, feeling the bends and dents that formed on the paper. John's effort was all around it. There were crossed note lines, words jumping over another, and arrows pointing around to correct his train of thoughts..

Perhaps he was harsh on the Prince. He was perhaps burning out because of all this work and not a lot of play.

"A break? What for?" The Prince finally answered, eyes at Paul's hands that were straightening out his notes before placing them into a folder made of the same material as his book's cover. He only didn't answer because he was quite busy trying to balance his quill on his upper-lip. It slipped by the time the Squire had the book closed in a gentle push, big eyes gazing at him.

Did he kill the child in the Prince?

Aunt Mimi might as well slay him now for making her John boring.

"Well, y'know.. unwind and all that." He made circles in the air with the quill, eyes to the side and voice in a mumble. Who would refuse a break or question it? Not a child John's age. Shouldn't he be throwing all that was on the table to the ground and rise with the energy of a sugar-rushed two year old? Paul couldn't understand.

The Prince knelt down to retrieve his quill that slipped down his lips and cluttered to the floor, unlike what he thought, didn't take a minute to fall due to the softness. The feather's metallic tip had it fall in seconds. Upon finding his quill that dared roll away in fear, he sat back on his chair, just observing the Squire. The Squire had his hands on the hardcover of the textbook, avoiding the Prince until he is ordered to meet his gaze.

There really was a lot that he had to learn from the child younger than him, eh.

"I'm fine. This.. assignment thing was fun."

The Squire met his gaze. The Prince noted the hesitation within it, as if he was studying him as he was being observed. He liked that the Squire really had something to teach him.

There was a softness about the lad that John knew he was going to adopt in the future. He didn't just rush doors open, he knocked before gently sliding it, when he was spoken to, he gave a full gaze, kept a low, gentle voice when responding. When the Squire ate, he made use of each utensil placed upon the table, tapping a tissue on his lips and chopping up his food to miniscule pieces to avoid chewing loudly or opening his mouth impolitely.

The Prince didn't know how he was going to do all of that without feeling trapped in a box. If he was told to chop his food into bits, he wouldn't even be sure he's eaten anything! If he had to keep knocking before he entered—think of needing to go to the loo, but unsure if anyone's present. That would be awkward.

He hoped he didn't have to be all poised and wrapped in a ribbon when he returns home to the Kingdom. The more he thought about it, the more relieved he was of not being there. He hasn't seen his mother and father in the last five years, and he didn't miss anything about them. In fact, he'd much rather never see them again.

He practically wished they were dead.

In that perspective, he envied the Squire who didn't seem to have anyone to be with. He was not bound by the rules that were put upon him, he had no expectations to fulfill—well, maybe except his father who put him into this role of being the Prince's teacher. Was being a friend a part of it? Because John was willing to keep Paul in even if his obligations are fulfilled.

But.. would Paul?

Would Paul stay after he has nothing to teach John?

The Prince began to fear. If he learnt too fast, there was no telling where the Squire would go to. Maybe he was forcing himself to be his friend—saying those bold things so that he could have a home to stay in before he has enough money to go elsewhere.

"I am quite glad to hear you liked my scenario.. but I'm afraid I can't come up with another in this waking moment." The Prince saw a little curve of the Squire's lips, tone sheepish as he admits why they should consider a break. The Squire's smile was not meeting his eyes, telling the Prince that the inability was disturbing him greatly. He was probably telling himself that he was not the sharpest tool in the shed—a useless lug of a teacher to the Prince who had too much to learn.

"Writing stories are never easy, Paulie."

The Squire lifted a brow.

"Stories?"

"Yeah." The Prince twirled the quill in his right hand absentmindedly. "Scenarios are like stories. Ye have to think of who you are writing for, why ye did, what to write for, and how to craft it without losing the reader's attention. It's hard—like writing songs."

"Do you write songs.." The Squire was trailing off, perhaps choosing his terminology that he often stumbled on. It has been about 12 days since John told him to remove the formalities, and every day he had to remind him that. The Squire—Paul was not getting used to it at all. "John?"

Aunt Mimi has given him enough of a scowl, it seemed. He still worked with her, she still tried her best to keep him from dreaming of horrible monsters they would never be told about, but there was only so much she could tell him.

The rest was up to him to choose. And he was finally getting it.

Hopefully.

"I've tried to." He answered back, offering Paul a smile in hopes that he too, smiles a genuine one. If he didn't learn, it was no longer his fault. It couldn't be a child's fault that he couldn't force down the philosophies of life into another. A child should never have had a profession as this.

A boy like Paul should've been frolicking the gardens and sipping the most premium blend of tea from a ceramic cup made just for him, enjoying all the delicacies life could offer him.

"It would be nice... if you show me someday."

And in this moment, John was caught gazing longingly at the child, almond eyes wide. The Squire wanted to hear him, even in his dumbest of habits. He didn't laugh about the boy writing songs as if he could grow up and be free like those bards outside, serenading the public and the royals, treated both kind and rudely but getting the best of both worlds.

No... The Squire was smiling at him. A small one, but it was real. His large hazel eyes gleamed with interest, wanting to know more, wanting to read the Prince as the book he was, the spiral-bound pile of ramblings and objections to the way the world works. A smile and a glance alone told John that he wasn't garbage to him.

It welled his heart with hope.

Paul will stay with him after all. He was going to stay his friend.

"Some time, Paulie. Let's break now."

John lifted himself off the chair that was giving his little tush the numbs, and motioned Paul to follow him. The Squire nodded, standing up and leaving the study after the Prince before closing the door. The Prince observed how the Squire kept his hand on the door, pulling it until the knob clicked. Another note, the Squire had the lever of the door pulled up as if he was opening it, releasing when the door met the metallic clasp.

John ran a hand through his hair. Usually he would just pull the door and hear the slam to know it was closed for sure. Paul closed the door as if he didn't want anyone to know he left. It was a little too sneaky for John's liking.

"What should we do for our break, Paulie dearest?"

"It would be nice to have some flowers within this Fortress." The Squire was eying the layout of the Fortress and its seemingly iron walls. While it wasn't as drafty as an actual barracks, it may have lacked in the pretty element, John supposed. The Fortress was clean and tidy, but it wasn't exquisite. The only decorations were the portraits around the walls—some of his family, some of the outdoors, and many that the Prince didn't recognize. The curtains that draped around the windows were plain but a strong wine red, but nothing that accentuated the crimson glow.

Maybe the place could use a pot of flowers.

"You want to go outside, Paulie?"

The Squire gave him a side-long glance.

"Yes, but wait a moment."

With that, the Squire ran on his little feet, going away from John who heaved a sigh. He was probably going to tell Aunt Mimi that they were going out for a while. Perhaps, even in Mendips Fortress, John was imprisoned, having to report everything he has done during the day to the gremlin called his Aunt. She kept tabs on him to keep track of where he was going—so that she won't lose him, as she scolded many, many times before.

He heard the Squire knock on the door to Aunt Mimi's room before advising her that he and John were going into the gardens and perhaps to a park nearby. Aunt Mimi must've given him the sign of approval—seeing him return as fast as he left, before giving John a smile before raising his brows.

"You might want to change, John."

"My personality needs a change?" he jested, earning a little laugh from Paul.

"No.. clothes. You would need your outdoor clothes."

"What's wrong with what I am wearing?" John dressed in a white crisp silk shirt that was tucked into his black pants, over his shirt was a black cotton vest. Draped over his shoulders was a gold chained, crimson cloak that reached his feet like a cape. Gold bracelets adorned his hands, and a ring on his right ring finger—as left meant he was bound to his marital partner..

He was not outside, so his boots were still on the mat at the door. "It's so meddlesome to put on, and now I have to change it? Why? I'm goin' to be puttin' this shite back on as soon as I get back in."

"It is a drag.." Paul found himself agreeing for a moment, before waving a finger. "But John, language."

John rolled his eyes.

"C'mon Paulie, can't I drop the niceties when I'm with ye only?"

"What if you treat everyone like they're just me?" Paul didn't mean to counter back, but he was curious as to what John's answer to that was. The worst he could do in the Kingdom was act like everyone was as casual as he was with Paul, and thus, bring shame to the King, John's father.

"...no one looks like ye, so I should be able to put the differences there." John really hated how sheepish he sounded. He wasn't supposed to be getting shy even if the Squire was right. He was supposed to be right, being his teacher and all—he should be knowing more than the Prince does.

The Squire closed his eyes, smile amused.

"Okay, but just remember who you are speaking to."

With that, they headed to John's chambers to have him changed out of his silken robes and into something more durable.

\--

As they stood in the grassy garden of the Fortress, the Squire realized he really did not know many places outside his home that no longer existed, and the Mendips Fortress. In fact, he had no idea where things were, just that there was a map waiting for him to read and assist. He has seen them before, but never physically went out into the places it showed.

All of it was a foreign mass of land ahead—as it depended on how reliable the map truly was. If it was out to date, then it was as useful as the Squire's cluelessness.

Ever since he had been in the Mendips Fortress, he almost forbid himself from going too far in the Summery scape. It reminded him too much of running around the fields with his little brother, teaching the young lad how to climb a tree pick flowers for his Mother on the way, and train with his Father while the Sun shone above them. It wasn't that warm when he used to train, but it was warm when he played with his little brother.

He wasn't sure if he was ready to be out once again.

Outside in the grassy fields without his parents, without his little brother to bask in its warmth.

"Ey Paulie, pardon me for asking, but are ye just going to stand under the shade all day?"

Paul glanced up to the Prince who was wearing a large hat on top of his thin aquamarine cloak to keep the Sun from burning him. As it was in the middle of Summer, they wouldn't be able to last doing much without breaking into a sweat, so the Squire chose the Prince's clothes carefully.

Couldn't have the Prince burning too much, now could he?

"No, then I wouldn't be able to get any flowers for Aunt Mimi." He answered quickly, giving his attention to the map that was rolled up in his hand. John might want to do this more often, so Paul had to be sure he had locations they could head off to before the moment comes.

If John ever has a rebel streak and runs off.. Paul would have to know where he goes to return him to Aunt Mimi.

"Then c'mon, ye don't need to go through a map to get flowers." John's gloved hand met his and he was pulled away from the stony pavement and into the reeds of grass. Paul simply widened his eyes as John ran across the field as if he owned it.

That he might've.

"Here's some flowers." John pointed, "there too, and far away there."

"It's impolite to point."

John's eyes squinted at him.

"Wow, I'm showing you what you're looking for, and that's what you have to tell me?"

"Sorry Sire. I'm grateful that you're showing me..." The Squire sighed, noticing after that the Prince too, sighed.

"Ye went formal again."

"My apologies."

The Squire glanced at where John pointed, and a smile returned to his face. Near him were beautiful clusters of flowers. Some larger than his little hands, some so minute they would be missed if they didn't compliment the larger ones, hues so light compared to the bright red, purple, pink blue of the others.

Hydrangea stood together to appear bigger than the other flowers, almost shy in contrast to the roses that stood alone and tall, touching Paul's nose and offering its scent to him. The Sunflowers were the tallest, the brown bud exploding with gold petals around it like children gathered around a fire. At his feet were pale daisies and rosy tulips that curled onto itself to hide.

Wildflowers danced over the garden, hungry for the sun's light.

To the side were carnations of various shades. Those courageous flowers stood with the germanium, almost appearing like cousins of one another.

"Aren't they beautiful, John?" he found himself asking without a further thought. When he heard his own voice sound, he almost wanted to take his words back in, being too casual for the moment.

"Guess so.. should've known my teacher was a pansy." John quipped, but had a finger itching his cheek that betrayed his lack of sentiment.

"Is there something wrong with.. being a pansy?"

"No, just expect a bird to be.. like that."

"Are you calling me a bird, John?"

"Didn't say it."

"You did call me a Princess a couple of times..." Paul smiled wryly, unsure if he was amused by that or just disturbed. Finding it was the former, he allowed John to laugh about it.

"Well, wear a dress and grow your hair, ye could pass off as one!"

"Really? Should I take one of Aunt Mimi's gowns and do that?"

"I'd love to see the sweet Paulie do that."

"Now, I'm sweet Paulie?"

John saw Paul ran a hand down a rose so scarlet, how its bright, lively shade was so unlike the Squire's pale skin. It was beautifully complementing him, not getting lost in him, nor overtaking his natural beauty. Did the Squire go out often? His skin didn't have the kisses of the Sun that his own had, or Aunt Mimi's. In fact, it was as if the Sun avoided him, was too afraid to affect him with its rays, wanting to preserve that pastel tone.

With gentle fingers, Paul snapped the stem of the flower and held it in his hands. John didn't know why, but the Squire, Paul, had no semblance to a slave, or just a middle-classed citizen. He was definitely a hidden treasure, a character appearing out of a fairy-tale.

Maybe they were in a vast fairy-tale, and he has met the character who, with a wave of a hand, will change his life.

The Prince found himself breaking a stem of a rose, glancing up at Paul and pondering. He was not just a mere Squire, he was a friend. Friends could offer little gifts to another, couldn't they?

The Squire was more focused on taking a couple of more flowers off the stems—a hydrangea, a tulip, a couple of those small baby breaths that were swirling around the roses, and a couple of said flowers. The germanium and carnation could be selected for another day before they drain the gardens completely of their floral beauties.

Bouquets did not have too many flowers that differed from another, so the Prince assumed it was for more than one room's set. Perhaps the Squire was planning for two flowers a room, and then the carnations for the living room.

Anyroad, the Prince watched as the Squire was counting the flowers in his hands, eyes low and concentrated as if they were the only beings that existed in this current moment. This was the perfect time to execute what he wanted to do.

"Hey Paulie, do you mind if I..." The Squire heard his mumbled call, turning his face to him, eyes slightly wider with interest. The Prince grinned as his fingers ran around the left bangs of the Squire before tucking the scarlet, red rose with his other hand. Paul simply closed his eyes when John's hand went through his black hair, feeling the tickle from the thin petals upon his cheek.

Opening his eyes, he tried to eye the flower now in peripheral vision before raising a brow at John. The Prince saw the Squire meeting his eyes in confusion, still interested in knowing what this was about. Was it a joke? Was it something he did with a full conscience?

"I was thinking of doing this to the bird I would be courting in the future."

"Johnny, you're just ten years old." The deadpan shock in Paul's voice threw him off. He pouted.

"I know that, you git!"

Did he just call him Johnny by mistake?

"You don't have to worry about your future plans with a woman until eight years' time."

John's cheeks flushed as he bit his lip, glancing away from Paul who began to giggle. It was unlike the solemn laughs that Paul usually gave—it was sweet, and it was to flatter John. The back of Paul's hand went up to his lips as he giggled, the flowers in his other hand.

"But if you decree it, I won't remove this flower until it wilts."

John tried to glare at him but found it impossible. He was so caught in how adorable the child appeared; he was breaking into a smile.

"Then I will. You can't pull your hair out, and you can't remove that flower until you sleep."

"Your wish is my command, Your Highness." Paul knelt to bow but couldn't help giggling soon after. For a moment, he was going to allow himself to be happy with his new life with John and Aunt Mimi.

\--

October 8th.

"Even within these months, we haven't shaken off that formality of yours." Aunt Mimi huffed when the Squire gave a light bow in greeting.

"What has been taught to me for years cannot be shaken off in mere months, Missus."

"Again with the Missus.. I ought to pull your cheeks for such cheekiness."

The Squire smiled at her.

"Would it help your cause?"

"It wouldn't." She heaved a sigh. "But it does humour me."

The Squire closed his eyes as her hands came to his cheeks, pinching lightly before pulling them. It was simply odd—she never had a child of her own to offer affection as openly as she was. John may have been under her wing, but he wasn't when he couldn't walk, when he was crying loudly for his mother to hold him until he could stand on his little feet.

That little moment she could never have as her body wasn't blessed with the ability to hold life. She could only pick up what others have tossed aside. The lives they didn't care for, the souls they didn't have a heart for, she took them in. That was how John was pushed into her life, and now Paul.

John was pushed with a list of conditions that she wasn't sure she could fulfill. She had not a lick of experience with royalty despite being the one who owned this Fortress with her late husband George, so teaching John was almost impossible. She could only pass along vocabulary and basic needs, and a pint of a Mother's touch, but nothing that Paul was brought in for.

Without her knowing, this little Squire who was to follow and supervise John's actions had become a little son to her. She held this child to her heart, and while he didn't open his to her, he accepted the warmth she offered with shivering hands. In turn, he assisted her with her duties, reminding her that it wasn't only John that needed care, but herself too.

The Squire never let her forget that. This small boy who wasn't even ten years old yet.

"My cheeks are going to go red, Aunt Mimi."

"Red as apples, as they should be."

Paul hummed.

"Do you pull John's cheeks like this?"

"I've tried, but they're not as plump as yours." John's cheeks had the case of big bones. He wasn't chubby with baby-fat, but he was full. He was going to grow up and mature handsomely, be the heartthrob of man and woman. Paul might still appear like a baby in comparison.

Aunt Mimi was waiting for the Squire to finally tell her to stop pulling, but those words never came. Instead, he only sniffed, reminding her that there was a boiling pot on the stove beside them.

"You must be hungry, dear Paul."

His answer came quick.

"I am."

"A'ight, let's set up the table and we could chow down."

The Squire snickered at her word choice, adorning the round wooden table with a white cloth. From the cupboards, he fetched tissues and white ceramic plates and bowls, having them set upon the table. Finding the need to, he began folding the napkins.

"And now what are you doing? Training us to be posh pansies?"

"Y'know, both you and John talk the same way." The Squire turned slightly before going back to making folds. A little here and a little there and should form a swan.

"It runs in the family."

"It's too bad they won't allow you to be that way in the Kingdom."

Aunt Mimi scoffed at the return of his pessimism. "At least, it gives you reason to be here."

The Squire's gaze lingered on her, hands an inch away from the swan-shaped napkin. Aunt Mimi caught him blinking a couple of times as if he was truly caught by surprise. His eyes didn't dare move, as if they had no necessity to speak through verbal means. The eyes did enough for the two of them, even if they couldn't hear.

As if receiving he answer he needed, he returned to the table with a mumble. "I suppose."

For that moment, Aunt Mimi wanted to know what was going on in that mind of his. While he was naturally composed and collected, he was too aloof. He never quite spoke his mind on any situation. He gave them opinions on what was most appropriate, but never personal thoughts.

Perhaps they weren't asking the right questions.

"The Prince's birthday is close.."

Aunt Mimi was now staring at him with the same surprise the Squire had.

"Did he tell you that?"

He shook his head.

"I've read about it somewhere."

"Did His Majesty give you his birth certificate?"

The Squire blinked, before shaking his head again.

"No, but I was given basic information about him. Nothing specific."

Aunt Mimi turned the gas lower.

"I wouldn't mind if we planned something special for his birthday."

"That would be nice."

Aunt Mimi noted the fond smile appearing on Paul's face. He too, was enthusiastic about making the day special for him.

"You could take him outside to Strawberry Fields."

"Strawberry Fields?"

"Yeah. He loved strolling along that spot."

"Strawberry fields." The Squire muttered to himself as a mental note, glancing at the door-less arch and seeing the Prince step in. He was really going to have to find that one on the map, having never been there. 

A resting fear started to well up in the tiny Squire. Would he be able to give the Prince what he wanted?


	6. A Precocious Child

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha, sometimes I think I am amazing writer. I had to emphasize two lines in the first half of this chapter that I felt had a powerful imagery. A daunting one, however.
> 
> Having put it together, this is quite the long chapter. The longest so far.. Two familiar faces come in the next chapter.

**\--**

The Squire seemed awfully busy today.

The Prince couldn't seem to get his attention in any way. When he awoke, he freshened himself in the restroom before asking the Squire—who was awake in the rather early hours, if there was something he should be preparing for. The Squire did not answer him as he assisted the Prince in dressing: buttoning his shirt, tying his belt not to tight but not loose enough for it to sag, then dressed his vest and cloak, but did not dress him in his usual silken clothes.

"Paulie, are we doing an outdoor lesson?"

The Squire simply glanced up with his big doe eyes, bearing into the Prince's with such an innocence, he was taken aback again. Remind him how this child was his teacher...

"No. Something else."

As soon as he was done, he fled the Prince's chambers. John watched him leave, keeping his gaze on the new vacant space that the Squire stepped on. He couldn't be bothered with any other possible duty he had. Was it his last day in the Fortress? With Aunt Mimi? With Paul?

Perhaps that was why they were preparing him in such a manner that resembled the Last Supper. Maybe he was going to be crucified for the shame of his father—be a martyr for the sins of his. Once again, he was going to be left behind by someone. Was he just not loveable that he could stay in one area?

Why couldn't he be left behind with Paul and Aunt Mimi for the rest of his life? He would happily be chained to Mendips Fortress if his Aunt and Squire was with him. They brought colour back to his life that was going bleak, grey, black and white just surrounding the place.

At least, they loved him. He saw the way his Aunt smiled at him, patting his head, cradled him when he had a nightmare, scolded him when he made a mistake. There was no reason for her to do any of those things, hurtful or not, if she did not care for him. She had a heart so big for him, he was sure she fought his father to keep him alive here, and well-off.

She couldn't possibly give him all these jewels and expensive robes with the currency she was living off of. The meager work that she did could not supply his Princely needs. Not that he demanded, it just came with his presence. He was supposed to be treated as well as he could in the Palace—that was the burden they placed upon his Aunt to fulfill.

Uncle too, if he wasn't dead, kicking the daisies and leaving without saying goodbye to John.

John couldn't blame his Uncle George for leaving. Those leeches sucked him dry and were trying to do the same with Aunt Mimi. He wouldn't let any of them get close to his dear Aunt, the only adult in the world who had given him all that he wanted, needed to know what love was. What he deserved.

And he hoped he could give her an inkling of that.

Before they could target his Aunt, Paul entered his life.

The Squire, so tiny and seemingly oblivious to the harsh realities of life came into the picture, with bags so heavy and large, they needed to get a couple of guards to carry forward into his room and to the Fortress. Aunt Mimi dismissed the guards from further duties—not wanting to have slaves following her orders. That was only the laziness of the 'haughty f—kers' up the Palace.

("Language, Missus." -- "hush, child.")

When the Squire appeared as part of their lives, the Kingdom kept their lips shut about the whole thing. They provided fruits, vegetables, cutlery, books, money, clothes and jewels—anything that John could request, but refused to. Aunt Mimi was working within the fields to get their necessities, and John could not be more grateful to her. Paul didn't impose all his obligations upon them, he was only offering knowledge that they asked for.

Things that John couldn't object to.

Training him to be accepted back into the Kingdom was important for the child's future—whether he would be King or not. The Kingdom was in disarray, and if a sweet child like John was there, he would've been target practice. Aunt Mimi didn't want him to lose that innocence that made him a child, and Paul was giving his life direction, helping him where the public failed. 

He couldn't go to school; he couldn't go out and about because of one reason: his status. The thing was, he was listed as a child on house-arrest—almost exile from the Kingdom. He was not to leave the Fortress unless it was on orders by the King, or if Aunt Mimi had approval on it.

When the Squire came in, Aunt Mimi started to think it was alright if he could go outside the Fortress and not only in the gardens. She allows him to go to the neighbourhood or the town square, it just happens that Paul hasn't done that yet. Why? Well, they were still doing many menial tasks to set aside first.

Paul wanted him to know the Kingdom's culture and the people around him before he says something that would have heads turning and chopped off for their insolence. He couldn't let someone be punished because John was not aware of the way life goes on. Worse, John getting in trouble for his lack of knowledge.

To the public, John was just another person. Not a Prince that was earning his credentials to inherit the Throne. He was just a meddling kid. A troublesome kid who didn't really know how to retract all his fingers when addressing bothersome people. There was always one finger he had raised up high if they ticked him off.

With how the family had come apart, they expected John to be doing the same.

John remained in place, in his outing gowns. Almond eyes lingering on the floor as if something were to appear from it. He wished for Aunt Mimi or Paul to step in and tell him that the King has given up on him, allowing him to live the rest of his life in this Fortress—with just the two of them and he.

He wouldn't mind it if Paul lived as if he was his little brother. His precocious little brother, if you must. Aunt Mimi was enough of parents that he needed. He was sure that they were all Aunt Mimi wanted as children.

Still, no one came by. There was bustling around in the Fortress, but no soul to be seen calling for him. For a moment, it was as if he was the only one remaining in the now gigantic space. He could barely reach his cupboards on his tip-toes, how he was going to manage the entire place?

In the middle of his lost trance, he heard a soft voice jolt him awake.

"John, are you coming? Aunt Mimi has breakfast set out.."

Small hands on the rims of the door stood his Squire, Paul. It was a shy gesture from the younger lad, only showing half of his little figure, but almost a full view of his cute little face. John liked how he really was a little cherub. Adorable, sweet and caring as the holy books say a cherub was.

"Yeah, give me a minute."

"How much longer? You stood there for ten minutes as it is."

"Just a minute, ya git."

His teacher gave him a tender smile.

"Well? If ya keep standing there, it's going to be another minute."

He didn't move.

"Sod off, teachy!"

He only laughed before leaving.

"Wait, Paulie, what's so funny?"

"Well... I must be off, so you can figure it out."

There was something up with the way he looked, wasn't there? Paul was laughing as if he saw John's pants fall down. Now the sod was leaving him behind in whatever happened? How. Dare. He.

For good measure, John glanced down and realized that's exactly what happened. His pants somehow slipped off his legs—thankfully, he was as small as Paul was, so it wasn't as embarrassing as it could've been if he was an adult and King. He could've gotten everyone beheaded for laughing, but at the same time, lose everyone for a stupid incident as that.

"Paul, you wanker!"

He heard Paul laugh as he ran off, yelling across the halls to Aunt Mimi that he's not decent to eat. Goddamn brat.

Still, it helped him shift his thoughts back a little. He didn't have to worry about losing anyone any time sooner. If they were waiting for him, then it meant they were here to stay as they promised. He might as well be there for them too.

If they had to leave in the future, he'd have to accept it, but till then, he was going to make sure to spend as much time as he possibly could with them. There was nothing that was going to stop him.

"John, you dressed yet?"

Aunt Mimi called, and a smile made its way around John's face.

"Shaddap. I'm coming there in a bit."

Finding himself laughing, he ran down to see his two companions.

-

"There he is, and a strappy young man he's becoming, wouldn't you say, Paul?"

Aunt Mimi's long, bony arm went around John's shoulder, pushing him to her side like a proud mother that she was—well, Aunt. A proud Aunt she was. And why wouldn't she? She was single-handedly raising John for five years now, and he hasn't gotten himself in trouble within those years. He's got a good head on his shoulders, soon to be better with Paul's guidance and Aunt Mimi's care.

As long as the two were with him, he was going to be alright.

"Very becoming, Aunt Mimi."

Paul found himself agreeing, but John took it as yet another polite gesture of his. There was no telling whether he was true or not, just trying to please people, or he genuinely thought that way. He didn't lie, but he didn't necessarily lay the truth in its bare bones. This was one of those moments. Of course, he has no reason to be saying John is looking better now—he might not be!

But the person pleaser Paul is, informs his Aunt that indeed, her work has paid off.

John's eyes went up to her and noted the bright smile on her usually concentrated face. She wasn't one to smile everywhere she went. He recalled his Uncle George commenting on how she always had a "mission face" on, and that mode hadn't quite found the off switch yet.

Moments as these, they did. Now if only Uncle George seen it.

To see if he would find answers around the room, his eyes flittered over. The table where their breakfast laid had nothing out of the regular—fruits in a basket, three tea cups waiting for the liquid to pour in, three plates of eggs—scrambled for Paul, and sunny for he and Aunt Mimi, a bowl that had a little snack for John, and... nothing different, really.

The snack bowl was something. Aunt Mimi did not always permit him to have anything other than omelette with toast, now eggs with toast, but today, she left the option open.

Physically, nothing was really different. He took in the scent of a lovely vanilla coming from the stove but saw nothing upon it that had the sweet aroma. Maybe his nose was playing games with him.

Survey complete. John found nothing that would be a reason why Paul and Aunt Mimi were rather happy. Two rather work concentrated people, smiling as if John had achieved something impossible. Did he become the elephant in the room? Well, no son of a—will call John Winston Lennon an elephant. No way.

"Meems, Paulie, what's with all the googly eyes 'bout me anyway?"

The Squire and Aunt Mimi shared a glance, both blinking before turning their gaze to John. Both spoke after another.

"Are you playing around us, son?"

"Ye can't be serious."

"I like to think you're jesting."

"Yeah, every kid likes... _their day."_

"What about my day?" John's brows furrowed then. Aunt Mimi would know for sure, but hearing Paul mention it started to click an odd button. How couldn't possibly know... Maybe she told him last minute?

"You don't understand?" Paul then interjected; eyes wide as it ordinarily was.

"Yeah, when did you of all people know about it?"

"I asked him the same, but the lad did some reading up on you." Aunt Mimi answered in place of the Squire who opened his mouth before closing it, hearing her voice.

"He read up on me? From where?"

"His Majesty, your father told him about you," her glance shifted to Paul, who tipped the tea kettle to pour tea into the three cups on the table. "As far as I know."

"Pretty much." His eyes went up for a second before returning to the cups. His small hands were clinging tightly to the kettle that was long and wide in his hands. John presumed that he insisted that he would pour their tea as part of his Paul-isms, but how Aunt Mimi allowed him these months.. it was a wonder how he didn't drop the kettle. It must be heavy, twice Paul's hands size.

"Ey Paulie, are you going to break a glass with that?"

The Squire straightened the kettle with a raised brow.

"Hopefully not."

"Ye could probably kill someone with that kettle."

"That's rather scary to think about.. especially on a day someone is born..."

John shook his head with a smile. "Well c'mon subjects, let's have our brekkie."

Aunt Mimi scoffed, but seated the two children before joining herself.

\--

It was when they were finished, and Aunt Mimi was washing the used dishes when the Squire spoke up, drying his hands with a napkin.

"John, would you like to go outside for a bit?"

"Why? I'm being kicked out of here?" he deadpanned back, not missing the widen of the Squire's eyes and the flinch that came with it. The fact that the child could react in such a manner after only being with them for some months had John's heart swell. He really was not a stranger to them anymore, wasn't he?

"No. Not at all.." the way the child pouted and refused to meet his gaze was rather adorable. He really caught him off guard. How easy. "I just thought it'd be nice to give you a day off today."

"But I don't want any days off from Meems and Paulie..~"

"From lessons, you sod." Recovering a bit, the Squire met his gaze after a roll of his eyes, smiling. "You can't take a break from us no matter how much you plead."

"I'm screwed, aren't I?" John threw his head in his hands as if he was frustrated, peeking up to see what the Squire would do.

The Squire nodded, trying very hard to give a strict as Aunt Mimi expression, but failing adorably. Aunt Mimi had her fair-share of sneering at her nephew.

"Yes son, you're bound to us till ye die."

"Oh my God." John faked a moan, and Paul shook his head, standing up from the table.

"We've dressed you already, let me get my cloak and we could go outside."

"What about Aunt Mimi?"

The Squire turned his attention to her, who waved a hand dismissively. If anything, they could bring her with them and they could have a little outing as a family. That wouldn't be bad.. just that Mendips Fortress would not have anyone keeping an eye out for foreigners who were interested in the property.

There was a reason why only three people lived in it.

"She might be busy..."

John shrugged his shoulders, standing from the table and excusing himself. John didn't mind going alone with Paul outside—it was the Squire's way to celebrate his birthday without having to do anything that was routine. Maybe he could write a poem about it on the way.

Before he left the kitchen, he went back, slowly stepping up to his Aunt Mimi who was just finishing up with the dishes. With his little arms, he wrapped them around her waist before burying his face on her dress. His Aunt, feeling the child shuffle close, turned around and enveloped him in her arms.

"You will grow so big, John. I can see it." She ran her hands through his smooth auburn hair. Under the sun, it was a beautiful red shade like the rays of the bright orb in the sky. Warm as the blood in his body, the signs of life in the child. "I am very proud of you."

"Aunt Mimi, why weren't Mum and Daddy proud of me?" he mumbled in the soft cotton of her dress, and Aunt Mimi's hand came to a rest on his cheek.

"Your parents were not ready for you." She couldn't hold her scowl back as she told him. She was seething as clearly as the sky. There was no bigger cruelty that a couple could do than birth a beautiful boy, only to leave him behind because he didn't fit their label—because they couldn't keep it together for him.

She had to admit, she was a little ashamed of her sister for doing that.

"Then... why do I have to go back when I'm older?"

Aunt Mimi gave it some thought, caressing his cheek.

"Because you need to get that old man off his high horse."

"What about Mum?"

"You might not ever see her." Her scowl sifted to a frown, thinking of her sister whom she had little to no contact with. In a way, she too, had let her go as she let go of John.

"I just want to stay with you 'n Paulie." He buried his face further, ticking her stomach as he shook his head, holding back little sniffles. "That's all I want."

"John my boy, I would allow that, but not when people will need you as their Prince."

"Can't Paul be the Prince and doing that?" John then shifted, glancing up at her, hands clenching the fabric. "He's more of a Prince than I am.. I don't get it."

"It's not that easy.. it's just not that easy." Her hand made its way around the top of his head, brushing the hair away from his face. "But it won't do anyone good if you keep sulking about it."

"I know. It's just... it would've been so much easier if he was the Prince and I was his attendant." He shifted his gaze to the side, unable to fight the determination in his Aunt's. "I wouldn't have parents who forgot all about me and just leave me behind. I would have the sweetest Prince to serve, watch him marry a beautiful bird and have a family."

Aunt Mimi lowered her eyes but stayed silent.

"I don't want to do any of this. I'm so far up my own..." he paused, "that I don't want to all the Prince stuff I'm left with."

"John..." her gaze softened, and the boy felt warmth radiate through her thin body. "Do you know.. they'll kill Paul if you don't succeed?"

At this, John's eyes blew wide, glaring at his Aunt.

" _What?_ "

"Paul's life is on the line for this, as is yours and mine."

"No..."

"Unfortunately, it is true. They would have you sold as a slave, and Paul and I possibly killed."

At this moment, John couldn't hold back a swear. He swore and swore again.

"I won't let that happen. I won't ever let them touch you or Paulie."

"I know you won't. You and Paul are doing so well.. I have a lot of faith in the two of you."

John buried his face another time and Aunt Mimi carded her hand through his hair. She lifted her gaze for a moment, and through the arch she saw Paul's figure creeping up close and meeting her gaze for a second or two. She gave him a nod, and he repeated the action, but went back in the direction he came from. He didn't want to disturb them, she presumed.

When she nodded to him, she was inviting him, not dismissing him...

The Squire really was like a responsible younger brother. John's words twirled into her mind. _Paul is more of a Prince than I am._

And he wasn't wrong. The young Squire was very much like a young, growing Prince. Yet, life played a strange card with them, burdening her little nephew with duties of pressing royal matters instead of offering it to one who would handle it rationally, and possibly better.

But that was why life offered Paul to John. That child was to guide him like a Guardian Angel throughout his perilous journey. He was his light, his motivation, and soon, the one who will pull him through the darkness, or make it more comfortable to lay in. That being said, the thought of such responsibility gave Aunt Mimi a gnawing fear in her gut. With such power, comes responsibility.

_There was no doubt that the little back of Paul would be full of gashes and bleeding wounds that would never heal._ _**All under John's name.**_

Perchance, Paul knew of this. He knew what came under his position of teaching John—that would be why when he was not teaching or with John, his smiles, his kind and welcoming demeanour dimmed to a stoic silence. There were no words he would speak, but his dreams... he still dreamt the unthinkable that shook him so often, but he's become a better actor at keeping it to himself.

He claimed that those nightmares were why he was so adamant on staying with John and teaching all he could. All that was in his reach.

That gaze he had when he stumbled near the kitchen.. Aunt Mimi knew that look like the back of her hand. It was the same face she had when she happily married Uncle George but realized that she wouldn't be able to offer what he might want. The expression that spoke of failure, of wanting to make things better but unable to.

It was distant longing.

She wanted to call the child back into the kitchen, hold him as tightly as John was, who was completely engrossed in the comfort that the Angels draw from God. Aunt Mimi was no God, but she was his Guardian, protecting him from the evils of the world, having refused to ask from one he couldn't see or believe existed.

The Squire was not comfortable to join—being an outsider to the duo. The truth in the feeling existed, yes it did, but Aunt Mimi seen enough of the boy's effort. He was trying his hardest not to regress into the previous episode he came with. He was trying too hard not to fall back into that shell that he was cased in when he first appeared to Mendips Fortress. Those horrible deeds that had been done to him that she does not know a word of, the fear of unfulfillment was written over his expressionless face.

His eyes spoke loud enough for her to hear. Those beautiful, big hazel eyes.

_**-xx-** _

_The doors thundered with knocks on a late evening._

_The Prince and his Aunt were seated at the kitchen table, dining. The Aunt had a bowl of salad placed to the side that she gave to herself and John, and on their dinnerplates was her well-made meatloaves, with mashed potatoes and seasoning that had John's senses jumping with glee._

_It was a long day of caring for the fields outside that came with a rewarding night of enjoying simple delights. Just Aunt Mimi, and little John who had worked very hard digging up the earths to sow the seeds of floral life into the otherwise gloomy garden. She did have plans for making it a beautiful vegetable garden, but that was on the other side of the large space. One person could only do so much in a land so spacious while working in the Square Market near Blackpool._

_That end was well-cared for, this side, however, had some bits lacking. The Prince proposed that it was going to be a sight no one would want to pass by when visiting the isolated Mendips Fortress. She couldn't set aside such a sweet little resolution, so she made sure that everything was done the day prior so it could be spent with her nephew._

_The knocking on the Fortress gates interrupted her reverie, and the Prince dropped his fork on the plate with a grumble._

_"Now what wanker's trying to come in?"_

_Sharing a huff, she excused herself from the dinner table._

_"Don't be bothered by it, John. Just finish your meal."_

_For a good measure, and to satisfy John, she cracked both her knuckles to show that she wasn't going to simply smile and take it whomever disturbs them in their long-awaited calm of dinner. John gave her a sneer as she went to answer the door, feeling sorry for the one who is going to meet those iron fists of hers._

_Aunt Mimi took a glance back to be sure John wasn't behind her when she opened the gates. A few guards stood there, and in their calloused hands was a thick chain. Aunt Mimi's eyes followed the trail of the silver chains, the large links reaching down, lower and lower. Before she could see who or what it was, her attention went to the speaking guard._

_"Mary Smith, on orders of His Majesty, you are in custody of this child." His monotone shown no sympathy as he spoke of a child. Struggling to take in a breath, Aunt Mimi's eyes shifted down, once again seeing the horrible chains clinking down and took a step back. The guards were holding two sets of chains restraining a child who couldn't be older than John—in fact, he must've been younger!_

_The child was so small he barely reached Aunt Mimi's thigh, and his face and hair were obscured by the cloak thrown over him like a blanket—or a rag to veil him from the public. Was he a slave that the King grew bored of? She had never seen one this young and tiny within Blackpool or the smaller areas within the Kingdom, where was this child from?_

_"Do as you please with him, as His Majesty only orders that he be the teacher of his son, His Highness John."_

_Aunt Mimi felt a gaze up at her and noticed the child was glancing up at her, but she couldn't see much of him. The little upturn of his head told her what she needed to know._

_"I see." Glaring at the guards holding the chains, she scoffed. "I'll take him in if I have no further choice, but geez.. chaining up a child like this."_

_"Very well Madam Smith, we leave him in your hands." The guards gave each other a nod before offering the two chains to Aunt Mimi. This was just so wrong.. treating a child as if they were a savage beast—chaining them up and covering them with unclean clothes. Anger was building in her, balling her hands into fists, she bit her lip, remembering not to jump into the offensives as it would only damage her case._

_Couldn't shoot the messengers._

_"At least remove this shite off him. Remove it now." Uncurling her fist, she took the chain before tossing it onto the ground as if it burned her hand holding it for just a second. "Unchain him and get this robe off!"_

_The guards stumbled, stuttering in affirmation. Aunt Mimi stood in place, watching the two confused guards fumble around the chains that tangled around the child. With all the shuffling going around, she heaved a sigh and turned her head to the side, seeing John walking up behind her, clenching the hems of her dress._

_"Have you finished eating, John?" she muttered softly to him, and he nodded._

_"They're sending a slave?"_

_The figure in the hood happened to flinch, and both Aunt Mimi and John didn't miss it._

_"No.. he's going to be your teacher."_

_"A kid?"_

_Aunt Mimi nodded, her attention returning to the guards with a grumble. Couldn't they do it faster? She could break those chains with a rusted cleaver quicker than these sluggish men. It took a good minute with the bolt-cutter to crack the heavy chain on the boy's neck. When it cracked with a long clang, and the guard removed it to prevent further damage, the other breaking the links on his hands. They were done unchaining him in about ten minutes, and Aunt Mimi bid them farewell, inching the child closer before closing the door._

_John's eyes stayed up before going down to the child a bit shorter than him._

_"Hei." He mumbled, extending his hand to the child's still bound ones. "M'name's John, what's yours?"_

_The child's head nodded slightly, showing the Prince that he was paying attention._

_"I'm Paul." The child's answered back, voice so low and soft like a chime of a little bell in the church._

_Aunt Mimi gave a wry smile, pulling the grey cloak off the boy that reeked of a lack of care. Children should never be treated as useless pieces of junk—they were the hope for the world. Upon unveiling the gentle-toned child, she was almost flabbergasted. She was expecting a child who hadn't been introduced to a shower, a little dirty and lost. With the way they were acting like he was a wretched cur; she should've known that it was a mistake._

_The child had large doe eyes, adorable chubby cheeks and rosy lips, a bush of soft ebony hair that stopped at his cheeks. He didn't have ragged linens for clothes as the people in the slums did, in fact, he didn't have a single blemish that told her that he was of lower status. A black tunic that was a size too big around his little body, and black pants that were pressed into black boots. Now that the metallic cuffs were off his wrists, the sleeves slipped over and almost covered his hands._

_It was a little cherub standing in front of her, smelling like strawberries and new books. He was really, really adorable, but so young and tender he was... what did he know that he could teach John? He was not a slave, that part was proven._

_She heard another knock. Opening the door, she saw a couple of clothed bags on the steps and realized in a moment that these were the child's belongings. She glanced at the child who was eyeing John's hand that he had extended for him to shake. With a little inhale, the child bent himself to bow to the little Prince._

_"My apologies, Sire. I cannot take your hand with my... unsightly ones." His stiffness was to be expected, having suddenly thrust into this family he had no knowledge of, Aunt Mimi couldn't help but feel bad for the lad. How frightened was he that he was now in front of the future King with the duty to teach him? One would normally take it honourably, joyful that they do not have to partake perilous labour positions to make a living, but the child had nothing reflecting in him._

_John seemed to have thoughts similar to her own. Believing in her nephew, she focused on taking the bags inside for the child—his teacher. Brave lad that he was, his hands reached for the child's that were almost glued to his sides. When their hands brushed, her nephew's hands rounded them and pulled them from their passivity, bringing them close to his face to see._

_The teacher gasped at this, straightening up and coming to a freeze._

_"What's wrong with your hands, Paul? They look clean." John's eyes were at the small hands in his, scrutinizing for any sort of mark or stain that could possibly be 'unsightly' as Paul would put it._

_"A lowlife should not be touching a Prince.." he muttered, refusing to meet John's eyes that came up. Aunt Mimi had his bags dragged to the living room, keeping an eye on the two just in case it was necessary. "His Highness cannot be.. dirtied by me."_

_She heard John began to chuckle._

_"I wouldn't worry about that, in fact, I'm the dirty one." The child bit on his lip. "I had dinner a moment ago and I'm not the cleanest eater, so your hands are the one getting dirtied by mine."_

_Aunt Mimi found a smile coming on her face, seeing John immediately showing the compassion he claims not to have. The child was caught by surprise by his actions, glancing up and chewing his lip._

_"How old are ya, Paul?" John smiled, seeing the child's eyes meeting his. Hazel into brown, so innocent and large. "Are you four? Five?"_

_The child—Paul, shook his head. "I'm eight."_

_John then gaped. "No way.. you have to be about six at most."_

_"I am not for lying, Sire."_

_"I'm becoming eleven in October. Wow, they really sent a young baby to be my teacher." John ran a hand through his hair, trying to process what is going on. "Aunt, he must be starving, let's give him some meatloaf too!"_

_Aunt Mimi nodded with a smile. "Of course."_

_The child shook his head, "I am fine, your Highness," then turned to Aunt Mimi, "Missus."_

_"Nonsense, they carried you in like a slave, they probably didn't give you a single meal."_

_She knelt down to his level, ruffling his hair. At close view, the poor boy's eyes were bloodshot and a bit puffy. It must've been horrifying to have been ordered by a King to teach all he knew to a young Prince, separating him from his family and possible friends._

_Being in Mendips Fortress was just another form of house-arrest. Aunt Mimi who was not allowed in the Castle Alf Lennon stood within as she was related to Julia who was John's Mother. Any relation to the woman was sent away, never to step foot in the Castle grounds unless permitted by His Majesty himself._

_Paul could've been one of the kids he picked off the street and was taught enough to be sent to his son whom he was ashamed to see. Aunt Mimi could see how he would have a difficult time adjusting to the sudden setting, presuming that he was not taken by choice._

_No child would be crying, chained and pushed into Mendips Fortress if they were willing to be there. He would've been treated with far more respect, and he would show more enthusiasm to his position—practically bursting with joy that he's breathing the same air as the Crown Prince._

_Yet, he wasn't. It was as if he wanted to be anywhere but here. It was just another burden placed on his tiny shoulders._

_"C'mon Paulie, Aunt Mimi's meatloaf is to die for."_

_"Thank you, Your Highness, but I am fine.."_

_John furrowed his brows, hands on Paul's tightening._

_"Really c'mon, I insist."_

_"Forgive me, but this is very sudden..."_

_"It is." John smiled then. "That's why I order you, Paulie, to eat."_

_"Or..der?" he stumbled._

_"Yes..~ you won't disobey my orders, would you?" John was searching his eyes, trying to find an opening somewhere, a place that the child could place for him to enter._

_"No, Sire!" he immediately shook his head, closing his eyes. "I shall not disobey.."_

_"Very good." John let go of his hands as Aunt Mimi went back to the kitchen. "Then come, let's be off to the kitchen. You need a lot of energy if you're going to be dealing with the John Lennon, Crown Prince."_

_And Paul could only give a small nod, following him._

**-oo-**

"C'mon, off you go, son. I have to clean this place before you both return."

Aunt Mimi tapped her nephew on the back a couple of times to get him to go with the Squire. John didn't mind going out with Paul, he revelled in the idea of being with his teacher without the chain of formalities—just as John and Paul, two little friends, but he did want Aunt Mimi to tag along.

He was not afraid that anything would happen to them, he was not afraid of being snagged by thieves or encountering a gang of jealous people, but he wanted it to be a moment where the family could enjoy themselves. But if Aunt Mimi really was busy, then he really couldn't complain, could he?

"Yeah yeah, ye don't have to shove me away, Meems."

"Paul, could I count on you to bring him back unscathed?" she turned her attention to the young Squire who was fastening the boots onto the Prince. He met her gaze as she spoke to him, and he gave a nod in response.

"Will try my very best, Aunt Mimi."

"Very good. Now be off, my boys."

Getting the buckles in place, Paul nodded, straightening himself in a standing position.

"We'll be back soon!"

The Prince smiled, taking Paul's hand in his own.

"Yeah, ye better not forget about us."

"As if I could..."

The two children left the Fortress, carrying a couple of biscuits as a snack in case they got hungry.

-

"So Paulie, where are we supposed to be going?"

"Oh John, if you ask... it ruins the surprise."

The Squire's eyes remained on a map spread between his hands, rather oblivious as to where the place Aunt Mimi mentioned was. It was a lot smaller of a place than he thought, it was barely visible on the old paper scroll.

Then again... what if John had somewhere he wanted to go, instead of being led to a place that he had some inklings of familiarity to? He might as well be considerate and ask.

"Is there any place you would like to go?"

John glanced at him. Paul's eyes were finally off that map in his hands and were on John, giving him his full attention. He shouldn't be so vain about it, but John was enamoured whenever Paul did that. His large doe eyes bore into him as if nothing else existed, nothing mattered than John, and he couldn't explain how empowering it felt. For so long, he was unimportant, unfocused upon, and with Aunt Mimi being the first to try and indulge him came this boy.

This boy, while on duty, had a sparkle in his eyes that told John it was beyond his duty to serve him. He was interested, willing to take in all that John's heart wanted to pour into him, not leaving a word ignored. The Prince had never seen someone who was able to do it without being grossly in love, or a lovesick puppy who idolized the one they laid their gaze upon.

Paul was none of those cases. He just cared too much to ignore John. They just connected somehow.

"Yeah, I do want to go somewhere.."

"Where is that, John?"

_To your soul. I want to know you more. Beyond what's on the surface._

"There's an old children's home over in the corner." John glanced up ahead, feeling Paul's eyes not leave him. "It's a place I used to go when I was upset in my parents."

"When you weren't with Aunt Mimi..." John's eyes flitted back to Paul with a smile. Oh, how he just loved the softness in the younger lad's voice. It was so warm in a cold time, so welcoming when the doors were shut, so inviting and loving. Did he have an idea that he did that? Surely not... that must've been why it was so lovely.

"Yeah." His answer was curt, but he couldn't help but let a laugh escape him, a sardonic laugh. It wasn't easy being in a place so mulled over stupid matters, a place where the two parents clearly could not get along even for a day, a large space that had no room for him. "It was my escape from their bull."

The Squire rolled the map and kept it in his right hand, his now free hand reaching for John's. The Prince allowed the sweet little Squire to take his hand, small thumb beginning its small rhythm of rubbing on the back of his hand. He closed his eyes.

He never knew what it's like to have a sibling younger, but now, he was happy to have one—blood related or not. If the sibling was like Paul, he'd be content.

"This place... what was it called?"

"It's Strawberry Fields."

The Prince felt the Squire's fingers coming to a halt for a moment before his nimble fingers squeezed a bit tighter, and thumb restarted its calming pace.

"That is where we are going." He mumbled sheepishly, and John opened his eyes, smile growing. It really was nice to have Paul by his side.

"Is that so?" his fingers sound around Paul's. "Then what's taking us? C'mon, I'll lead us there. That map will just get us even more lost."

The two began to race ahead, the map long forgotten in Paul's hand.

"A map could get us more lost?"

"The way ye were followin' it, yes. Yes, it can."

"I didn't think it could..."

"Well, it can!" John turned his face for a second to see Paul's confused blinking, then back to the area approaching them. "But.. I don't think getting lost with you would be bad."

"Aunt Mimi would not like that..."

"She could finally get a break from us." John rolled his eyes. Paul was too courteous for his own good.

"Does she want a break from us?"

"Who wouldn't want one?"

"I wouldn't want a break from you." John almost missed his mumble. He probably should've, as now he couldn't even focus on the pathway. It was too much cuteness for one day.

Was Paul trying to kill him on his birthday? It couldn't be on purpose as the boy was unnerved to hear such commentary earlier, but little does he know how much he made John willing to die if it was with him—or by his hand.

"Neither would I."

He heard Paul just breathe in, telling him enough of what the latter felt. He too, was up in the air, wanting to hear that more than anything else.

**\--**

The Squire saw the old structure in front of him. The building that encompassed Strawberry Fields struck a hard chord in him. The building was guarded by a thin crimson gate that twirled around with small strawberries sculpted as if it was truly painted vines of said fruit. On the brick pillars written "Strawberry Fields" with other words written in chalk and paint. The words were illegible, but judging by the scarring upon the bricks, they must've been written years and years ago.

Maybe by the children who once lived in this place.

The building itself was long, but worn out, abandoned. It was left behind, left to die with the children who were buried in the fields. There was an abundance of life surrounding the small place, but the Squire was certain he couldn't see it with his eyes. If he flicked glances around, he would only see dry grass, walls, the soils that were once soft and healthy, and a massive building of the strongest limestone and cement—or bricks now looming down like an exhausted, elderly person mourning those predeceasing him.

With his ears, he couldn't hear anything more than their own breaths and the wind that blew around in mourning.

When he ceased relying on his senses, he was able to feel their presence. Children frolicking the fields, with big smiles and sweet shrill voices like the fruit the land was named after. The caretakers watching over them with nothing but ever flowing love and care..

This was a place for the lost to be loved. The Squire didn't know there was a place as this in Liverpool that could do such.

"It's something, isn't it?"

John's voice drew him back, glancing at the Prince with wide eyes.

"Yeah..." shoot.. he was really trying not to think of anyone than John on his day. It was no time to be brooding over what he doesn't have anymore, but the building, the dying grass.. the children...

All of it was too close to his heart.

"I used to be jealous of the kids who lived here." John's hand traced the crimson gate, following an individual vine before moving to the other. "They didn't have their Mum or Dads.. but they had something none of us have."

The Squire kept his gaze upon John's solemn figure.

"They were free."

It was just three words, just three that weighed down like caskets too heavy.

"They really were free, Paulie. No expectations upon them, no training to be a Prince or a King. No one relied on them, no one really concerned for them, no one telling them what to do every day. They just did what they wanted to, died doing what they wanted to, and this home and their manager would watch them over."

John's hand continued to run down, but his glance was up at the building, lowered in condolence.

"But that's just it, Paulie. No one cared if they lived or died." He met Paul's eyes. "It must suck, having no one who needed you to be by their side to live, to breathe."

The Squire took in a breath, his lungs shaking a bit with incapability.

"I don't have their life. I am needed. By Aunt Mimi, my parents.. and you. I need you so I could become what I have to be." The smile on John's face resembled the one he had earlier. It had tinges of sorrow etched within his sweetness, welling the Squire's heart with compassion.

It has only been a couple of months, but he was really growing to like John. He was a strange older brother he appreciated—knowing he was once an older brother to his dear Michael.

"I am not like the kids here. I am the Crown Prince John. I have duties to fulfill so that my friends here won't die in vain."

The Squire hoped that the Prince was not expecting a verbal response.

"I am not free, but I will make sure no one will be bound like I am. I need your help for that to be true."

Paul then smiled wide, bidding tears back. "And I told you before, I will help you as much as I can. Even if His Majesty slays me for it."

John's stomach began to make backflips. Paul was smiling as much as he could, and from the soft warmth radiating from him, he knew it was what he wanted it to be: for real. With how the lad was slowly opening the door to him, John knew he would truly do anything for him.

And he would do the same for Paul. Cute Paul.

"I won't let him hurt you. If I'm there, he won't ever get to."

Letting his fingers drift from the gates of Strawberry Fields, he turned himself full to face Paul. He needed the Squire to hear that he would ensure his safety. He will protect the Squire, as he would teach the Prince. There will be no person who will dare hurt him, not under his watch.

He wanted Paul to know that.

"But if he hurts you..?" ah, when will there ever be a time when the Squire cares for himself first and foremost?

"Then I will be." He veiled his eyes with a close. "Most likely, he'd have a reason to."

"No."

John's eyes blinked open.

"His Majesty would never have a reason appropriate to hurt you."

John certainly did not expect anger forming in Paul. Shouldn't he be relieved if he wasn't the one hurt? Every fibre of Paul spoke otherwise. He'd be pissed beyond measure if the King lays a hand against John. He was already distraught to hear that he was thrown aside by the man who should love him unconditionally.

John reached for Paul, and he didn't hesitate to wrap his arms around John's shoulders. So close.. John could practically feel Paul's breaths so shagged, deliberately slowering to calm himself down, but that blinding fury that wouldn't be tamed by mere breaths. John's arms tightly wound his middle, holding the boy as if he couldn't ever again.

"I will not let him hurt you. That is my duty to you, John. Not to the Crown Prince I am teaching."

"To me...?"

"Yes, I promise everything upon that. John, if your father can't love you, if your mother can't try, then I will love you. I will not let anyone harm you."

"Paulie.." damnit, he was not a weak ponce. He wasn't supposed to be having tears welling up his eyes, he was not supposed to be clinging tightly and hiding himself on Paul's shoulder. The Squire was too young to carry him, despite his courage. "Who will protect us when we need it?"

He hated how sappy and childish he sounded. He was ten—or well, now eleven years old for Pete's sake.

"Oh! Aunt Mimi." Paul's answer had his final wall closing in, breaking into a mix of laughter and tears. Who else but Aunt Mimi the mad gremlin to protect the Prince and his Squire? Surely, there was no one more fitting than her.

"Gosh, Meems' is going to see us all snot-faced when we come back." He shook his head on Paul's shoulder, trying to bury himself, but not enough to suffocate. Paul's little hand came on the back of his head—just like Aunt Mimi just an hour ago. It felt good. It felt like he belonged right here, with Paul and Strawberry Fields, crying his eyes out and thinking of Aunt Mimi.

They were family. And today was a reminder of it. A reminder of something beautiful.

"We should return back to the Mendips Fortress, John. Aunt Mimi might not like us staying here for too long." Paul whispered since they were so close, and John nodded.

"Yeah, she's definitely waiting for us to get our sh—stuff together then come back."

"And waiting for us with a lovely vanilla cake."

"With strawberries?"

"Many."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading~


	7. A Friendship Blooms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is about a 3 year time-skip in this chapter. Since it is March, Paul would be.. 10, and John is 12.

**\--**

March 10th

"John! Locate the Cuckoo!" The little older Squire called out, hands touching the rims of the Prince's Chambers as he peeked in, smiling small. The third year raced in as fast as athletes running the Olympics. By now, Paul had been under the care of the Prince and his dear Aunt for two years—with July making the third.

"I don't need to, he's right here!" the Prince sneered, pointing at him. "Right at my doorway like a baby chicken."

It was certainly not a mere stroll in the park. It had trips along the way.. the Squire was not the most accepting of the situation placed upon him—the Prince often falling into a little rebel streak, refusing to be taught by the Squire on the grounds that he didn't want to be a Prince to begin with, and the Aunt massaging her temples, seeing the kids go back and forth between phases.

But it got better.

The Prince was allowed to pace himself for there were times when he learnt so well, the Squire was reluctant to pour that fresh mind with more information to burn him out. The Squire was finding that his dreams were not as scary as they once were, not having them every night he laid his head upon the pillow. Aunt Mimi was finding the boys getting along without biting at each other's throats quite relieving.

It was good to be optimistic for the future. Be faithful in hard work.

"Har har." The Squire rolled his eyes. "Next task, get your sorry behind out of bed."

He received a fluffy pillow to the head.

"John, it's 2 in the afternoon." Removing the pillow with a laugh, Paul stepped into his chambers. The room was quite spacious in comparison to the study he often sat with John in. He often forgot that his chambers was larger, having the semblance of a Prince's grounds.

It was a Fortress, so the rooms were generous.

John's bed was twice—maybe thrice the lad's size, long and wide enough to fit four children, with white sheets adorning the mattress, four pillows with the same hue, so fluffy and big. Paul would know of the softness, having just got hit by it.

The blankets were a wine red, spreading across the mattress that was all over the Prince's curled body. Above his head and higher than the bedpost were thin, translucent curtains of the lightest hues dressing around the bed. Under the bed was a carpet of similar shades. The Squire wondered if the Prince and his Aunt had a preference for the red shades. It was around many of the rooms of the Fortress.

Or maybe it was the colour of the Lennon Kingdom. Strawberry Fields also adopted the same idea...

There was a suit of armour on the left corner of the room beside the Prince's clothing cabinet. The cabinet, strong brown oak was about twice John, Aunt Mimi and Paul's size. It was wider than the small attic above their heads—telling the Squire enough of how much clothes and belongings were stuffed.

Posters hung the walls, many of them being oil paintings of places—gardens, groves and lovely orchards that had the Squire staring. How lovely it would be to simply skip around the field without a care in the world, with no sense of fear of dismissal or better yet, death for non-compliance. No King's duties imposed, no Prince to train like a paragon of knowledge, no family to fear leaving his side...

There was no room for wishful thinking. How many times did he have to remind himself that serving John was not a torture session? That was a cruel viewpoint to have when there was Aunt Mimi who could shake off the frights off his body, and John who could pick the pieces of his broken heart and messily put it together with adhesive glue. Aunt Mimi and her "gremlin" instincts that cracked him up to no end, and John's imperfect means that had Paul smile, showing him how to properly fix something that is broken...

He would have no reason to smile if he was not with them. How dare he treat them as if they hadn't given him a reason to _be_?

It's been two years and some months, and they still hadn't grown tired of him. They hadn't given him the boot and joyfully claim that their time with the prissy Squire has finally come to an end. In fact, they were a lot happier with him by their side. Aunt Mimi was not scrambling to work in the Liverpool Square nor in the vegetable fields and having a steaming pot that almost fell over by the pressure of the gas. Instead, she had time for selling crops to the people while Paul handled some of the meals, showing John some basic recipes.

How he found those out? They never really asked, but they were relieved that he knew. For all these menial tasks, they could've had a slave or a nanny, but due to Aunt Mimi's reluctance, it was between the three of them.

Perhaps soon, Paul would be joining her in selling the crops to the people in the Square. It was more fitting if he did that, but the sense of familiarity with Aunt Mimi and the public helped with the sale. Everyone knew the stern and fierce, yet kind and considerate Aunt Mimi and how fresh her work always was. If Paul suddenly took over, it wouldn't have that strength and rapport that she has with the people.

"Paulie, you okay?"

The proximity of John's voice brought a little jolt to Paul. When did he get out of the bed he confined himself to? Blinking a couple of times, he turned around and saw John in his night-gown. The gown that used to be too large on his little body was now coming to a very nice fit—no longer swimming on him due to bad fitting work but showing the well-endowed figure he was growing to have. Two years and some months had gone by, and it was treating John very well.

The boy was growing quickly. His lovely auburn hair no longer swept shyly to the side, but curled up nicely into a quiff, resembling a Greek Emperor. He wasn't just reaching his Aunt's waist at his tallest, but now was coming up her breast. Give another year and he would exceed that height. It would take another couple of years for the Squire since he was not the Prince's age, so he still was just touching Aunt Mimi's stomach at the moment.

"Oh, you're up.." he foolishly muttered, knowing the lad was supposed to be up two hours ago. He was oversleeping because of what? The Squire didn't know. Maybe he was growing a habit of loving the state of slumber. The Squire did hope his hours of sleep were not as unfortunate as his, often shrouded by nightmares..

"C'mon, you said it was the search game today, let's be off. Up and at it." The Prince laughed, slapping the Squire's back a couple of times to send him out of the room. "I'll get suited up—you don't need to help me with it. Just wait outside."

With eyes wide, still elsewhere in the world, he gave the Prince a nod and allowed himself to be pushed out of the room by the laughing boy. Did he say something that was worth laughing about? Maybe did something embarrassing that John noticed, but he failed to understand?

Maybe him so distracted was something to laugh about.

"Are you and John going out today?" Paul turned his body to face Aunt Mimi who was walking down the hall. He gave her a nod, but that answer did not satisfy her. He was given a stare, being sized up and down with scrutinizing eyes, creeping closer to take a closer look. Paul began to feel a bit rosy at the sudden closeness.

What was up with Aunt Mimi and John today?

"Did you talk something dirty with John?"

And now, Paul was replicating John's reaction to seeing Paul blinking owlishly. He laughed, he laughed heartily, arms circling his tummy as he chuckled at the question. Why on earth would he and John...?

There was no room for such topics when he had to teach John how to be a good Prince.

"Heavens, no!" he answered when Aunt Mimi glanced away, cheeks flushed, and fists balled in embarrassment. "I don't have time for such unnecessary things."

"There's not a reason to laugh at me, child."

"It is!"

Aunt Mimi pursed her lips in a pout, seeing Paul laughing as if she grew not two heads, but five. It wasn't unnatural for boys to be delving into... discoveries and having their talk about it. With the way her nephew and the little boy were, it wasn't out of the question to be having private moments where they discussed the normalcy of it.

Maybe John has already gone through that, and Paul was straying away from it due to his obligations coming first.

"Are you both going to Strawberry Fields again?" when the Squire ceased laughter, she spoke once again.

"Maybe. I was thinking of going around the Square since John and I haven't been there." The Squire's fingers curled onto one another, previous mellow and free behaviour pushing back into the restrained, quiet and reserved nature he usually had out. Aunt Mimi frowned for being the reason why he went back to that attitude.

It was rather adorable seeing him laughing openly for once, and not after a particular heart-to-heart moment. It came unwarranted and... natural.

"I would say it is a good idea, if people did not know John is a Prince."

"You thought so too, eh." The smile that appeared on Paul's face was a wry one. It was not good to spread around that the Prince was surveying the Kingdom he would soon be ruling. By the way Aunt Mimi was speaking, it was a rather infamous tale.. John's family. Every person alive was aware that the Kingdom had a breakdown in the marriage between the King and Queen—the Queen leaving him, dropping her son to her sister's place, and the King—so distraught, he couldn't think for a second that his son was gone. Instead of finding ways to get him back, he sent Paul to him.

As if having his son return didn't quite matter to him.

Think of this, the public are viewing John as the family shame—why else would the King forget to pick his own son back from the Aunt he was no longer related to? It was heartbreaking to know that the public pitied John only for a minute—only so that they could attain information about him and spread it like gossip to elevate themselves. They were not as screwed as the Prince was. They may have not been rich, but at least their families had honour.

John was abandoned goods. No one would care if he was killed or robbed, or worse, left to die in the worst way possible. There could be assassins waiting to dismember him, and the nation would simply stare, watching as the Prince cries for help, staring at the Prince who had the painful blow of realization beat through his skull that no one truly cared for him—save for his Aunt and now Paul.

If they were around the public too much, they could become targets.

"John is not a subject for good words." Aunt Mimi muttered; tone full of guilt as if she was the reason why he was miserable.

"I can imagine."

Truly, he could. Imagine going around the Square and people knowing you were from a fallen Kingdom. You were just a waste product at that point—with nowhere to go but lower and lower. He could hear voices that asked him, 'why aren't you dead?' as if living was not a right for him anymore. That it may be.

Paul began to wonder who has more shame in this Kingdom: John or he? John the abandoned Prince, or Paul the fallen Prince.

"I wouldn't recommend going to the Square until he is back in the Kingdom."

"I'll make sure he doesn't.. but Aunt Mimi," Paul's gaze had been at their feet as he pondered, flicking up at Aunt Mimi when he spoke again, smiling small. "It's not your fault—what happened with John. You're not his parents who left him like this."

Aunt Mimi stared down at him, heaving a sigh before offering a smile herself.

"I know, but as a sister to his mother, I feel responsible. I want to give him a good life without all this disturbances.. lighten the burden for him, but this is all I can do." Her arms reached up and clenched tightly around her shoulders. "He won't ever be able to see worth in his own life because of what his parents have done."

Perhaps, they really were no different from each other.

The Squire kept a level gaze at the Aunt who shrunk to herself, refusing to show weakness, refusing to break down in front of the child. Despite the fact that it was widely accepted that women were far more expressive than their male counterparts, Aunt Mimi refused to her many short-comings as she knew John and Paul relied on her to be that pillar when the ground caves in and they fall.

It was just unfair.

It was unfair to Paul who was trying to orient himself without their help, it was unfair upon John who would never be able to open his eyes to the love around him, and it was unfair to Aunt Mimi who has to keep a strong example over an honest one. Why did she have to keep standing even when she didn't want to? Why did John have to pretend the abandonment of his parents didn't bother him? Why did Paul have to pretend his parents were not dead—his family was under the dust.

Truly, why wasn't he dead?

"There's only so much you could do." Was he telling her that or himself? He couldn't think those words could apply to him—he was not the victim in this. He was the same as John's father, the undeserving one who survived the ordeal. The one who should just burn. "John needs you just as much as you need to take care of him."

"Only so much I could do.." Aunt Mimi murmured, biting her lip. Then she barked a bitter laugh. "I'm asking for impossible things, aren't I, little Paul?"

_No.. it's me who is asking for the impossible._

As if there were weights on either side of his head preventing movement, he shook his head.

"Not you, Aunt Mimi..." her gaze came up to him. "You only ask what is reasonable."

"What is reasonable..?"

The Squire hummed, hands reaching up to hers and tugged at the claw grasp she had on each arm. With rather wide eyes, she watched the child's tubby fingers gently brushing hers before slipping under, straightening each long, bony finger with his. It was only when her fingers lost its grip completely was when he pulled them from their harsh hold upon herself.

"A mother and father only want the best for their children, be it biological or not. You don't want them hurt in any way, by someone's hand, or by your own." As he gave her an answer, he was inching her hands and putting them around his neck. Aunt Mimi saw this and was retracting her hands back. "That alone tells me that you're speaking out of having a heart of a true mother."

Feeling her gaze bear into him in ridicule, he continued. "It was probably a stretch to show you what I meant, but you really showed me too.. that I'm not wrong."

"How could any mother hurt their child?"

It was a question no one could have an answer for. No clear answer without a bit of the inner cheek.

"John's have."

"Julia was not ready.."

If one was not ready for children, they might as well not have them. A woman must be given the choice before the child is born.

Aunt Mimi saw how his breath came to a short halt, faltering for a moment, and how his eyes deepened. For a moment, the multitude of shields that he had on himself, those shells that she could not pass through were opening.

Paul must've held his mother very dear.

"Young Paul, do I really have what it takes to be a mother?"

"I think so." There was no hesitation in his voice, but Aunt Mimi happened to frown at the sight of seeing those shells coming back together. The Squire's attention was waning. He was thinking of something else right before he could confide something very dear to him to her. "You've proven it yet again, today."

His mind must've tripped for a minute there. It reoriented itself in time.

"Is it the Mother's love that John needs?"

"It is."

The Squire was repeating himself at this point, the reason for the rather curt and small answers. The topic must've run dry, but Aunt Mimi did want a clear answer that told her that she was not merely imagining that she was on a high pedestal.

Sometimes, you just need that reminder that you're doing all you could, and it's a good effort. Hearing it from him settled her.

"We're going to Strawberry Fields for an hour, maybe. I still have to teach him."

"Yes.. please do." Her gaze finally left him, going to the door to the Prince's room. Both flitted their gazes over, waiting for the Prince to pop out and question why his Aunt and Teacher were still here.

"We'll be back soon, Aunt Mimi." He smiled at her, and she resisted the urge to pull his cheeks again. It was often a habit out of the child's "cheekiness". "We could talk over the fireplace when we do."

"I'll be holding you to that, boy."

He gave a nod as she began to walk to the living room, perhaps to read a book while they go for their lessons. When she was out of earshot, he knocked on the door.

"You ready?"

No answer, he knocked again, tempted to just open the door and check on the silly Prince. As he was about to pull the lever of the door, it opened. Glancing up, he saw the Prince giving him a long grin with a tilt of his head.

"Were you about to come in? Man, I really should've let'cha. Would've been funny to give ye a scare."

"You scared me enough."

"Ye git! Ye didn't even flinch!" It was true, the Squire only glanced at him as if it was expected that the Prince would step out the way he did. He was most definitely not scared!

"Let's go out, you have a scavenger hunt in schedule." The Squire stepped back to allow the Prince to move out of the room.

"Where is it? The Square?"

"It was, but I thought we just go back to Strawberry Fields."

The Squire really did not want to see the Prince's expression when mentioning the Square, having a rough idea as to what awaited him there. While they would not recognize the Squire, they would know who the Prince is. He wouldn't really hide the fact that he lives with Aunt Mimi—who they know has the Prince in her care.

"Strawberry Fields is a good idea. Let's be off." Once he was a little ahead of the Squire, he turned to take the child's hand. The Squire only lifted a brow but didn't make an objection to his action and allowed himself to be led by the Prince. He didn't always have to make a deal about John's behaviour, did he?

He still had about five more years until they would have to move to the Kingdom. Once John was of age.

"We're going out, Meems!" He called out, casually opening the door and jumping out of the Fortress as soon as he could. Aunt Mimi heaved a sigh.

"Just be careful, boys."

"We will!"

**\--**

Into Strawberry Fields the two were, with the Squire holding a book in his hands, and John waiting for him to give instructions.

"John, since this is geography, we're going to find directions through a game, is that alright with you?"

John raised a brow.

"What kind of games?"

"Oh y'know... hide and seek or something."

"Alright, you seek and I'll hide then."

"But, you are the one who has to search for the following items..." Paul handed him the book. It was a set of terms and directions he wrote down, markings such as the compass co-ordinates and certain images to match the names to, and names to match the image.

"Alright, you hide, and I'll seek them out." He grinned, "and then I'll find my Princess."

"Princess? Come off it, John. I'm your teacher!"

"Yeah, but, if I will it, you could be my Princess Paulie."

"I'm not a woman.."

"That makes it better."

Then Paul's twitch smiled, giving a fearful smile. Brow raised and teeth bearing.

"In what way?"

John only gave him a long grin.

"C'mon Paulie, go hide!"

Blinking a couple of times, the Squire shrugged to himself before going into a sprint shouting, "catch me if you can, Princey!"

The Prince watched him run, escaping his line of vision within seconds. It might've been the first time he's seen Paul run, he didn't realize that the lad could be so.. fast. Suppose that's the perks of being a Squire, he must've been trained by the ones who raised him before he was sent here.

He might as well be an adult since he was eight. Back when John was that age, he only realized how to write his name and do basic addition and subtraction.

Paul went further and further, and it took a couple of knocks on John's mind to remind himself that he was supposed to be counting to thirty. Heading to a tree up at the front, his gloved hands met the dark bark of the tree and rested his forehead on the palms.

The Squire would know what tree this was—probably just an acorn tree. The Prince would merely give a spit to the ground saying that knowing what tree it was had no significance, so long as he knew which were palm trees, pine trees, and which were not. He would probably receive an earful from the Squire who would nag in his high voice that he's taught him the difference, how can't he tell?

Why was he counting when he had a freaking list to go through? Maybe Paul was finding a way to escape from him. Maybe he was overbearing, a little too much for sweet little Paul. Big bad Johnny he was.

Shaking his head, he restarted counting—having only reached five. There was a time and a place for thinking, and here was not one of them. It was the same as not trusting the Squire, which was the opposite of how he felt. He trusted the cute little lad with his entire life, taking his word as a teacher without a single inquiry.

If he took his teachings without a grain of salt, he should take his many proclamations of staying by his side no differently.

Besides, it was the only time when the Squire's eyes gleamed, where his heart was not cased and guarded by his rib-cage, but on his sleeves, in those eyes of deep hazel.

He continued counting. Six.. seven.. eight.. nine...

\--

It was with a sheepish laugh that the Squire came to the conclusion that he might not be able to find a good hiding place in Strawberry Fields. If he knew correctly, the Prince knew each crevice, every curve, the bumps on the soil, where the flowers once were, how far the orphanage went and every structure that surrounded it.

He probably even knew how many trees were in place.

It was in this moment that it dawned upon him: he could run, but he couldn't hide. This was the Prince's domain, and there was no sense in the element of surprise when he knew each piece. Nothing could faze him here—the Squire had provoked a dragon. Not the wisest decisions in his youthful mind.

Laughing quietly to himself, he found himself taking in the atmosphere, assessing if John was acrobatic enough to be climbing trees, or knowing which tree could conceal someone. Now that, he did have a slight advantage over. John may know the terrain, but he couldn't tell which tree had Paul. The trees were still fresh and had leaves sprinkled over every corner.

Now Paul would have to make sure he doesn't shake off too many leaves. That would be a good indicator as to which tree he climbed up. Another location he could use is within the building itself. Torn down and full of debris, it was no walk in the park to lift each broken brick and cement chunk.

Then a frown came to his face. John had no warrants with getting himself dirty. That was a Paul thing to be careful—not to get unnecessary scratches or wounds. It was one of the things he couldn't change about the Prince. It was up for him to see why it was not always the best option to go head-on into places.

Maybe he should resort to hiding into a tree. Or maybe he should see if the Prince really is complying with this silly game. If he was, he probably only had nine seconds to get into a hiding position while he figures out the trivia he sent him. If he isn't, then he might as well show him around the word associations.

He resorted to climbing one of the many trees, not in the middle since it was obvious, not at the back because it was a sign of hiding, just in the front to confuse the boy. No one checks the first door when there's about six of them, right?

Not the best at climbing, he was. All he knew was that if he had his weight shifted more into his arms than legs, it would reduce the cracking of the bark, but saying it was easier than doing it altogether. When a branch broke in his hand, he threw it a couple of meters ahead to make it appear like it fell from another tree.

When he reached a sturdy branch, he latched onto it. He laughed to himself, finding himself looking like a racoon who was about to become a dear in the headlights if he glanced down and saw how high he was from touching the ground. Yep, he was not going to be climbing trees any time after this. It invoked too much odd thoughts of falling and splattering his head into millions of gruesome chunks.

And as everything he did set a reminder of the past, climbing trees reminded him of when the guards used to perch him up when he was playing with his little brother, showing him nests of adorable little birds—watching the mother feed and cuddle her babies.

Now was not the time for that, if he was to get distracted, he was going to doom himself to falling. Now of all times, he was making sure he didn't get into accidents as that, having promised Aunt Mimi and John countless amounts of times that he will live for them, make sure they were not alone again.

He couldn't think of joining his family until it was time. When would it be time? He couldn't tell. All that was within his knowledge was that he couldn't make it time by his own hands, otherwise he'll never see them.

The sound of a connection snapping had Paul glance up from his awkwardly seated position, clinging to the pillar of the tree like a life-line and raising his legs to his knees to keep it from dangling. Someone was picking something from the tree, having the Squire figure what tree this even was. Above his head were large, green apples hanging from the branches. As he realized that, he heard another snap—someone plucking fruit and causing the leaves to shake off and slip to the ground lightly as feathers.

"Hello?"

Who was the tree mate? As far as he knew, John couldn't have caught up this fast. While he wasn't the worst athlete around, he had a lot to go through within the fields. Paul was nowhere close to where John stood when he was counting.

"Whoa, there's 'nother person in this tree!" the person called back, and the Squire blinked owlishly. Was he disturbing a farmer? A fellow child who was picking fruit for his family? Perhaps to sell them as many did in the Square?

"Do you need help with those?" The Squire didn't lift his gaze from the main stem, not wanting to see above in case he had a moment as Isaac Newton did when he learnt the painful concept of gravity. It shot like a ton of bricks, one could say.

"Nah, 'm good, just.. havin' a snack." The unknown person had a little bit of an accent, drawling on certain vowels and leaving off others, having Paul wonder of his social class. Nobles didn't come across the Strawberry Fields given it was an abandoned place, and they couldn't bother with places that were long gone from a map...

Judging by the little of his voice, the Squire concluded that it was still a child. If it was a child, it had a higher probability of being younger than him.

"Are they good?"

"Yeah, pretty darn good, I reckon."

It was nice to know the child was willing to indulge him with answers rather than ignoring him as soon as he found a stranger in the tree. It helped Paul relax, letting his arms shift from the main support to a higher branch, turning his body around so his back was leaning onto the tree. He was able to look around with ease now, not fearing the idea of falling.

"Ye should have one too." The voice came closer, closer to the Squire's right. He turned his face to follow, curious as to who he was speaking with. If it was someone from the Lennon Kingdom, he might as well turn around and flee. If it wasn't...

Peeking from the side, Paul saw a thin young boy chewing on the fruit he plucked from the tree. If he was assuming his age before, now he could confirm that this was a child younger than him. How young? That, he wouldn't put his finger on. The stranger had a sharp gaze, with furrowed brows on his unsmiling face—an interesting contrast to his soft and gentle voice that had a laugh in it.

Paul bit on the middle finger of his left hand.

The child's eyes narrowed a bit, swallowing the chunk in his mouth before pointing at him.

"Wait, yer a noble, ain't 'cha? What're you doing in this place?"

The Squire blinked, glancing down at his clothes. Maybe he did overdress a little.. The child only had a beige cotton shirt that almost slipped off a bony shoulder and black pants—coming into full view and sitting criss-cross on the other branch. His boots were not as worn as Paul expected, but his clothes didn't speak much of anything. It was very casual.

His soft brown hair appeared as if it was swept up hours ago, but it was fluffing down to his sides. It gave a full view of his thin face.

"I'm not really a noble..."

The boy rolled his eyes.

"Sure, like any other class could afford three layers of clothes 'n have hair good as yers." He took another bite of his apple, and Paul noted that his teeth were quite sharp. Another interesting contrast to his own, that were a little on the big side, but what John and Aunt Mimi called "bunny teeth"

"Hand-me-downs." He blurted without thinking, blinking wide. "They're my sibling's old stuff."

Well, at least he got the expressionless boy to laugh. That was an achievement.

"Must've nicked them off from those richies."

"Yeah, he's quite the adventurous one." The Squire began to giggle. "Never truly caring for what people have to say about him."

"A great lad he sounds like." The boy smiled with such warmth; the Squire shared the sentiment. "Guess ye keep 'im in place, eh?"

"He is.." It took a moment for the Squire to realize that this 'brother' sounded a lot like the Prince. He just indirectly inferred to John as his older brother.. Aunt Mimi would be overjoyed to hear such a soft term for her nephew from Paul's lips. It meant they were becoming something important to him.

More than he believed.

"I can see how ye admire him. I would too, if he was my brother." Was this boy an only child? Loneliness poured out of him as water falling from a high cliff into the lagoon.

"Do you have a brother?" it might be an insensitive question, but Paul did want to know.

"I don't. Is ye's younger?"

_Yes._

_He was younger, and he's freaking dead._

"He's older, about a year or two."

_It's about John, remember? John's older._

"Cool. Maybe tha's why he takes all the risks around." The boy twirled the remains of the fruit in his hand, smiling sheepishly. "Does he worry ya?"

"Often." It was odd to give the child an imagery that he was a younger brother when biologically, he was the older in his family. About a year or two older than his little brother who currently breathed a purer air than he did. "But he doesn't notice the things he does worry people."

"Tha's where ye come in. Ye're his foil." The Squire saw the young boy move the scraps of the apple to the side, and a little bird flew to it. "I've always wondered how it was to have siblings."

"It's pretty neat.. it's pretty neat."

"By the smile ye have, I can see that's true." The boy wiped his hand on his pants, removing the bits of juice from the fruit. He then extended his arm to shake his hand. "'y name's Hazza, what's yours?"

Hazza? It had to be a nickname of sorts. While he wasn't dressed in a way that spoke of his status, and his verbal choice wasn't that of a noble, he had the air of one. Like a bard who hugged his lyre close to him from prying hands.

Or it could just be his name, and Paul needs to tone it down with his impolite assumptions.

"I'm Macca!" After what happened these years ago, never did he want to speak his full name. It was not a bad name, but it had memories he was putting in the back of his mind, a cruel reminder of where he stands. If he goes with a small nickname, he was a new person, with a new life.

That, he would much rather do.

Paul shook hands with Hazza, smiling earnestly. He was silly to tell himself, but he was very happy to make a friend. Excluding John who he has obligations to, and is living with him, Hazza was a complete outsider—just like him.

It was merely a bond forming in the most traditional manner. Two nobodies meeting and deciding that it was fine to let the connection live.

"What are you doing here, Hazza?" he probably pronounced 'Hazza' a little differently, judging by his snort that followed immediately after the Squire made a mention of it, letting it roll on his tongue a little.

"Ye probably want a profound answer like coming here ta visit little kids who don't exist anymore.. but I just like it here. 'm with a friend too."

"It's still a good answer. It has heart."

"What about ye, Macca? Ye don't belong in a place like this, what're ya doin' in Strawberry Fields?"

The Squire glanced down for a moment, wondering if the Prince had caught up to him by now, hearing their voices. Maybe he gave up and went to take a kip.

"I'm playing with my brother." He smiled again, eyes going back to Hazza who was watching the bird peck the apple before hopping away.

"What's yer brother's name?"

"Oh, it's.. Lenny." He bit his cheek. It was alright to say his.. no, no no. It wasn't. If he had a nickname, and John was dubbed his brother, true names will only harm them.

Everyone knows John is an only child.

"Lenny and Macca.. my friend's somewhere down there, name's Richie." Hazza pointed down, then furrowed his brows. "Or, well, he's somewhere."

"Let's go look for him. I think Lenny's lost too..."

"Yeah."

The Squire swallowed nervously, practically hugging the tree as he was going down. Normally he wouldn't be too afraid of jumping, but since they were about nine feet above ground, it was almost a blinding moment for him. He slid down until he was able to see the blades of grass then jumped down. As he jumped, he rolled into a ball before his feet would hit and get pricks of needles and nerves.

Hazza on the other hand was as careless as Paul imagined John would be. Instead of sliding down carefully, he simply hung on the branch he was seated on and shifted his body so he was hanging. Then he jumped casually and barrelled down, rolling on his side as if he was escaping a bomb explosion.

The Squire gaped at him.

"You could've gotten yourself hurt!"

"Psssh. If ye keep worrying like that, Macca, ye'll get nowhere." Hazza waved off his concern like his handkerchief that he held out to brush the dust off his face. "Keep that for Lenny. I'm experienced."

Paul wanted to scold him more, fists balling, but as soon as he saw Hazza smiling so bright, teeth bearing and true, he burst out laughing, covering his lips with the back of his hand.

"Are you really experienced, Hazza?"

"Of course, I am! You'll be blown out of your mind when ya see my skills." He cracked his knuckles for emphasis, and Paul kept a gentle smile.

"I'll only believe you because you seem so confident in it. But be careful, Hazza." Then he finally got to wipe the lad's face. "I don't want your friend coming in thinking I beat you up or something."

"How could such a sweet ponce do that? Princes don't lift their fingers."

"I'm not a Prince, remember? I could be a savage too.."

Then Hazza inched closer to intimidate him. Now standing together, Paul noticed that the boy was a little shorter than him, and slightly built, yet he knew a trained man when he saw one. That being said, it took more than a bold lad to scare him.

"I'm a savage to you, Macca?"

"Not at all." The threat didn't really come through, and Hazza stepped back, thanking him for the face clean-up.

"Have ye ever been in a fight?" he then asked, to which Paul shook his head.

"Not exactly."

"But ye've been in a battlefield?"

Paul bit his lip, unsure if he wanted to have that told to a person alien of his situation. He shook his head again.

"Not a battlefield, just trained a little."

"So ye're a noble?"

"Just a—"

He was cut mid-sentence as he heard footsteps racing up to the two of them. Hazza and Paul both turned their heads to glance at who was appearing. Paul thought John, and Hazza thought his friend Richie.

The person running to them was even shorter than the two, stopping as soon as he was in a good distance and catching his breath. He must've been running long to be out of breath.. the lad's hair was a short brown swept back similar to Hazza's, only shorter and had streaks of white near the ears. When he glanced up, Paul met droopy but bright blue eyes and a small smile.

If John was here, he would joke about this boy being a small gremlin as he did with his Aunt Mimi.

"Richie!" Hazza called out with a hand in the air. Richie greeted back.

"Hazza, making a new friend?" Despite the small of his height, his voice was deeper than both Paul and Hazza, surprising the Squire for a moment. It wasn't bad, just very rich as his name suggested.

"Yeah, his name's Macca." Catching enough breath to stand, Richie straightened himself up before sizing up the Squire. Raising a little brow, his attention went back to Hazza.

"A noble in Strawberry Fields?"

"Oh no, he's no noble. Just hand-me-downs, he says." Hazza pointed at him with a thumb. "He's cool though."

"Forgive my rudeness, Macca. I've just never seen you anywhere." Richie turned back to Paul with a kind smile, and the Squire found himself smiling back with a nod.

"It's alright, we're kind of in-doors people."

"I'm Richie, as you heard Hazza say. It's a pleasure, mate." He then extended his hand for Paul to shake, who took it after a couple of seconds, registering the two people. "You're so young-looking, mind me asking how old you are?"

The Squire's hand went to the back of his head, giving it a little scratch. There was no sense in lying, was there? They were friends.. there was no need to be too cagey now.

"I'm about ten, eleven in June. You?"

"I'm going to be thirteen in July."

Then Hazza jumped in, eyes wider than usual.

"Wait, _ye're older than me?"_

"Oh yeah, Hazza's about ten right now."

"He's older than me?" he repeated, and Richie began to laugh.

"Dude, I'm older than _the both of you_ , isn't that a surprise?"

Hazza swore, and Paul laughed as well.

"It is actually a surprise. I do not wish to offend you, but I would've thought you were nine, Richie."

"None taken, Macca. I thought you'd be younger than Hazza here."

"So then Macca, where's your brother Lenny?" Hazza changed the subject, looking to and fro around the fields.

"He should be here any moment.. if not, I'll go back to the gates."

"Want us to tag along?"

"No, it's alright.. We're going home any minute now."

Hazza's smile went down, much to the surprise of the Squire. Richie nodded with understanding.

"Well, I hope we could meet another time, with your brother Lenny."

Hazza's smile returned with that, nodding with the eagerness of a child his age, and Paul beamed at them.

"Oh yes! It would be lovely."

"We'll be seeing you, then!" Richie waved, nudging Hazza on the shoulder. "We should be going back too, don't want to worry our Mums."

Paul nodded a little, for a minute he thought of Aunt Mimi as his mother waiting for John and he to return so she could discuss their plans for the future, when John returns to the Kingdom.

"We could send letters through messenger birds.. let us share our addresses." He almost muttered, thoughts drifting further and further away—scolding himself to think he could ever change his association of "Mother" with another mortal, as if his Mother never existed.

It wasn't wrong to share... there was no such thing as monopolizing upon titles. Aunt Mimi did not give birth to him, but she was picking the pieces that his Mother forcefully left behind.

That was enough of a Mother to him.

"You have a paper on you?"

"Luckily I do, with a quill since I was te—uhh, showing Lenny something." Pulling a leaflet out of his vest pocket, he ripped a half of the paper to write Aunt Mimi's Fortress as his and "Lenny's" address and handing the blank to Richie to write his and Hazza's. It seemed that the two lived closely, that was how they became friends.

Simple as that.

"Perfect!" Richie smiled, reading the address with Hazza. "That makes it easier to plan outings."

"I bid the two of you a good night." The Squire gave a small bow, finding his heart doing small somersaults. Two friends in one day, that must've been a stroke of luck within these years of being only with John and Aunt Mimi.

"You too, Macca." Hazza waved as the three began to go in the opposite directions. The Squire to find the Prince, and the other two to return home. He wanted to tell the Prince that they now had two friends to look forward to meeting, two very nice people they could trust.

Now before assumptions are to be made, Paul was no naïve man. He could see a person lying the minute they do, and the two didn't utter a single one. There may have been details they didn't share, but it was nothing Paul didn't share as well.

There was a mutual agreement of not sharing their true names, and it should not matter if they were going to be friends from now on.

-

It was rather funny how the Squire found the Prince. He expected the Prince to either be laying down under the tree that provided a shadow over his head, allowing him the rest of a farmer or a traveller, or the Prince still lost, checking the book if he marked the answers correctly.

What the Squire didn't expect was the Prince shaking the tree with the little strength he had, screaming, "get down, you damned Princess!"

For a moment, he contemplated just leaving John to his devices—shaking the tree until he ran out of will to do so. Doing that, however, would give Paul trouble when taking him home. He could barely carry the boy's weight upon him with their books—he still couldn't properly hold a sword without stumbling, how was he going to carry the Prince?

"John, I'm over here..."

"Shaddup Paulie, get down from there! I know ye're a crazy climber." He shouted at the tree, yelling at it as if it would shake in fear and drop something upon him.

Oh, it would attack back if he keeps that up.

"Careful John, an apple could hit you..."

"Yeah, and maybe I'll learn how to fly like Isaac Newton finding out gravity with a smack to his head."

"No, just reality would dawn upon you that I'm almost next to you.." sometimes, even Paul couldn't make a funny comment over John's behaviour.

"Yeah, and maybe an apple hitting me would rid me of my Prince duties!"

The Squire frowned, deciding that he could tell him about Hazza and Richie some other day.

"John, c'mon, let's go home."

It took Paul tapping him on the shoulder for him to notice he was, indeed, right next to him.

"Oh, Paulie!"

"Don't 'Oh, Paulie!' me, let's go back. We've played around enough."

"Oh alright, Mum.."

"You're disappointed, John."

John raised an incredulous brow.

"Yes, if that wasn't obvious..?"

Paul heaved a sigh. "No, I mean.. did you want to stay longer?"

"Not really. I do want to go back. Just thought we should try something more later."

"Really? Like what?" he truly was interesting to hear what John thought they should do. Anything that could help him learn was a strategy he would take in without any enquiry of how well it would work.

Learning does not always have to be "boring", does it? They could always play around the system...

"Let's write something in the future."

"We already write...". The Squire furrowed his brows.

"We do, but only as reports.."

"Is there another way you want to write these?"

"Yeah, like stories!" John finally smiled, and Paul nodded for him to elaborate. "You've written scripts—I read those, but I was thinking more of sonnets or sommat."

"Sonnets eh? That would need a lot of creativity.."

"Creativity we both have. I know we do. We wrote whacky scenarios—you have to be creative enough to do that. And these worksheets, these were very interactive."

"But you didn't even find me..."

Maybe John was growing bored of his ways. It was understandable.. they did need a change in routine.

"But I found everything in your list, see!" he handed the book to Paul as they continued, heading away from Strawberry Fields and to Mendips Fortress.

"Wow.. you even got those difficult Mathematics questions figured out." He really was amazed by that. He was expecting John to rip his hair out or run to Paul for help—or cover the page with sarcastic comments about how these questions could go where the sun doesn't shine. "John, you're amazing.."

"I know. You better be showering my arse with praise when I become King."

Paul could only smile at that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading~ over 200 hits already? That's amazing..!


	8. A Special Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was planning on doing another time skip, but then I thought—I shouldn't so quickly. 
> 
> A fair warning for flashbacks again, I suddenly hit a mood while I was planning the positive parts of this chapter. 
> 
> And since it has extended this long, I'm going to be doing the second part of Paul's birthday in a new chapter. Didn't realize it was going over 8k already.

\--

_The child was getting a little older as time passed. What should’ve been considered just a couple of years ago felt like aeons away. Alone he stood, a broken child. One time, he was a child nestled in the arms of three of his most loved ones, the next.. he is left behind as a reminder of one’s loss, and another’s victory._

_Every now and then, the child, sunk on his knees, would see turned backs, so close, and yet so out of his reach. He would call them out with the gale of his voice but would pass like the wind, unnoticed. He stretched little arms to touch the silk clothes that covered their bodies, but when his longest finger would be close to touch, they would drift further away._

_“Please don’t leave!” he’d scream, beg on his weak knees, eyes tearing shamefully as he wept. “Please, don’t leave me alone!”_

_“Mother!”_

_“Father!”_

_“Michael!”_

_Unable to hold back all that was inside of him, gripping at his heart and threatening to rip out of his ribcage, he sobbed, snivelling like a baby, and whimpering as the pain surged through_ _him like a thousand blades impaling his small body. There would be no one to pull him out of it, no one to hold him high and steal his pain that lingered heavy upon him, crushing him to the ground as his hands covered his weeping eyes._

_It no longer mattered to him if he was a shrivelling mess of a boy. A lad who was supposed to stand strong even in his worst. If the people he was protecting were no longer here, nothing else mattered._

_“Oh God, please.. please don’t ignore me.”_

_His voice broke, unable to hold in a firm and gentle tone he was taught to carry. The dams were bursting in front of him and he couldn’t rebuild it with his shaky, tiny hands._

_Finally, there was a shade ling of acknowledgement from the souls that floated so far._

_“You don’t need us.”_

_It was a child’s voice—moreover, it was Michael’s. He never heard his sweet little brother’s voice so devoid of emotion, dripping like a bitter poison into him, hurting more than the tugs at his heart and the loss of his ability to breathe—crying so much._

_“You don’t need us, brother.”_

_What he heard inside was,_ **_‘We don’t need you, heathen’_ ** _._

_“No! Please, don’t go! I need you!”_

_It didn’t matter how many strings of “no!” he could scream out, no matter how much he could scar his throat growing so dry, croaking like a madman, or a desperate child, it didn’t go through._

_“I’m sorry.. I’m so sorry.”_

_How could he forget that he was the reason why they had gone without him? If he didn’t take his brother out to play during that day… he could’ve seen the torches that burnt the ground and send a warning to his Father. If he stayed with his Mother, he could’ve shielded her with the blade that his Father entrusted him with._

_It would’ve been better if he was the only one who was dead than all of them._

_“It’s all my fault, isn’t it!”_

_He missed the tearful mumble, ‘no’._

_“If I just didn’t exist, you wouldn’t have had such a stupid older brother!”_

_‘no.’_

_“If I wasn’t born, Mother would not have been sick, Father would’ve had a better heir!”_

_‘no…’_

_Paul honestly wished he was dead. Just dead and not bothered with._

_He didn’t care if he couldn’t be with his family, he wanted out._

_He wanted to leave._

_He wanted to be gone._

_Disappeared from the faces of the Earth._

_But a sinner as he would never receive such a privilege, wouldn’t he?_

_“John…”_

_Just how dare he think of leaving when there was a boy who needed him more than anything in his waking moment._

_“Aunt Mimi…”_

_How dare he think of leaving without returning the countless favours the Aunt who had no blood relation to, provided to him?_

_He was just too selfish for his own good, wasn’t he…_

\--

June 17th

He awoke with tears streaming down his face in the break of dawn. 

The Squire figured there was no kidding himself when it came to attaining sleep that was more tasking than teaching the Prince. Some days he slept without a wink of a dream, and then times as these… he jolted with dreams as these. Where he should be grateful that he is able to see the ones who used to be with him, he wasn’t.

It kept ripping his heart and making it kiss the void he was so afraid of stepping into.

Sitting up, he ran both hands around his chest, reminding himself that his heart indeed, still beat. Heaving in and out breaths as if it was his first time since he was strangulated to death, knees coming close to shield him, bending up to shrink him further. He mumbled a swear to himself, uncaring of who heard the Squire dirty his rosy lips with words unsuiting. 

He was alone, and his voice did not travel further beyond these four walls separating him from Aunt Mimi and John.

The night was a reminder every day that he was alone without John and Aunt Mimi. It was also a reminder of the chains he bound himself to—he couldn’t dare think of leaving now that he had shackled himself to them. 

He never was living for himself to begin with. 

It was either for his family, or for another soul who needed him. What use was it to live if there wasn’t a being who required his prowess? 

He’d be no better than a dry leaf that falls from a tree that abandoned it—no longer wanting to hold it up.

Burying his head on his knees, his hands tightly clenching the fabric of his night-gown, he wept pitifully. He thought it was finally going past him. He had said his goodbyes and promised not to bother them further with his pathetic wails.

It didn’t seem to be the case. After the third-year nearing, he was desperate to see his Mother at least glance his way with her gentle smiles, his Father’s proud ruffle of his head, and little brother reminding him that he’ll grow up better than him. Just one more time, he pleaded. Just once more, he begged. Just another moment before he never can, he groveled.

All he got was a bleak silence shadowing his mind, taking away the pure of white into nothingness.

He needed a distraction. Something that could break the silence that drowned him, pulling him further, sinking him into suffocation.

He needed out.

Slithering off the bed as if the action itself would break all his bones and tear the muscles keeping him in place, he had his feet touching the ground. There was no use spending time in slumber if he was going to keep rising from it more exhausted than how he started off. Turning his weary glance out at the midnight blues, he saw once again the stars had shied away. 

With losing his position as Prince, he lost the grace of those little specks of light, hadn’t he? He contemplated jumping out if the narrow space could hold his little body—still underdeveloped and small. Tired and reluctant feet stepped over to the sill, running his hands along the splintered rock. The Squire was in one of the rooms that were not used often, explaining the lack of grooming to the structures thereof.

Aunt Mimi could only do so much…

He pressed his hands onto the rugged rock to allow his knees to lift, left then right, onto the sill. Now kneeling onto the high space, hazel eyes widened slightly when he noticed how well he fit in between the rims of the window. If the Prince or the Aunt ever wanted to push him down, they wouldn’t have to worry a hair about it. He would fit just right and be able to be dropped at any angle.

Shifting closer, he pushed on the glass of the window, spread so little to let nothing but air within the warm room. He parted it further until both shields were away from his line of vision and landed a gaze down to the ground. Their rooms were so high up in the Fortress, it would be spectacle to have an accident. Just how easily he could snap the threads that separated him from his parents. Just one jump, and he’d race to the ground and splatter like a ball of paint onto the canvas.

Disgusting paint, it would be.

Shaking his head, he inched back and jumped behind to let his body touch the floor of his room. This was the second time in a day where he was contemplating a fall. No no no!

No matter what he wanted, no matter how much he pleaded for it, no matter how much he would reach and grab—he couldn’t be selfish. He had to remind himself once again that he is living for others—always has, and always will. He couldn’t decide his life on his own, he was not those who were abandoned.

_“I’ve never raised my dear Jamie to be selfish.”_

His Mother’s soothing voice resounded through his mind as he recalled her calm caress on the back of his head. It was not a serious topic when she had praised him as such. Just a time when there was only one fruit and both siblings wanted it for themselves. Paul took two seconds to think and concluded his brother needed it more.

_“Our little Jamie always gives himself. So self-sacrificing and soft.”_

His Father’s woeful yet proud voice echoed soon after, and Paul eyes gazed at his hands. Upon his pale skin had red spots due to the pressure upon the rugged sill, little welts of pain that were to leave the next couple of minutes. His Father spoke these words when he scraped his arm in a little sparring match. It was the first time he landed a little blow on his father and wounded his arm—shaking off the wooden blade from his hands. 

His Mother stepped in to assist, and he insisted that his lesser wounded Father could use the ointment first.

The Squire didn’t realize that he would have to chain himself down as a martyr all his life. First it was for himself, and now.. for the Prince. 

Sweet, silly John.

He stepped out of his room, skipping down the stairs until he was away from all the rooms in the Mendips Fortress. For a moment, he was going to indulge himself with what he adored for so long. Opening the door that led out of Mendips Fortress, he thought of leaving his boots off, but decided otherwise. His eyes caught sight of light brown sandals that sat beside their boots and slipped them on, closing every strap to keep it from falling off his feet and went outside.

The deep blue of the night obscured the vibrant view of the flower gardens and the vegetable fields that Aunt Mimi had cultivated with John, putting the plants to sleep so that they too, could rise with the sun to witness a new day. Paul couldn’t help but smile a little, taking in the scent of the flowers to his far left, finding himself only a couple of steps away from the beds of sweet scents and lovingly soft orchards.

The Prince could call him a ponce all he wants, but the Squire couldn’t help but love the simplicity of flowers. How they showed themselves in the light, spread and light and full of colour, unafraid of showing their blemishes and inner insecurities—so unlike a human who wear jewels and cover their faces with powder to hide their “ugly” parts. It must be nice to be a plant, having the ability to survive without shame and provide for the environment. 

These little leaflets of green were the reason why the world hadn’t blackened and dried out. They took in the Earth’s darkness and fed upon it, offering the atmosphere the feed it needed to live. It was these shrubs, herbs, florae that gave up their lives for humans to exist—to be cut off from their roots and enslaved into jars and vases or hung on walls to boost the human ego. These children of nature allowed themselves to be burnt and consumed by animals to help them subsist.

Truly selfless beings they were. These poor beings could not be taught the animal language to complain, to beg for its life for it did not hold a voice. The Squire knew that the children of Mother Nature spoke, but animals did not bother to try and understand, seeking their own fulfillment, their own nourishment. 

It was the same as how a human treated an animal, and a fellow human who lacked certain abilities, or stood lower than them. They had to be sacrificed for the “greater good” for the betterment of others. They had to suffer, to bleed, to cry, to die for the furtherance of superior life.

The fate that was sealed for he too.

“I’m sorry… for all the people who use you to further themselves.” His fingers brushed the grass beneath his feet and around, not able to hear their cries of pain or sighs of annoyance at being stepped upon. “And sorry from me.. for being unable to be selfless with you.”

He must’ve been lower than the torturers of life if he was lowering these beautiful beings below him. He wasn’t helpful as they were, nor possessed their beauty, and still treated himself superior to him.

Paul parted from the gardens, finding the deep-rooted hatred pushing him down again. If he claimed that animals could not speak to defend themselves the reason why consuming them or enslaving them was wrong, then he should have the sentiment same for plants.

He really was petty.

In resignation, he retreated to his quarters, picking a few books from the shelf and began to read them in place of sleeping. He wasn’t worthy of the privilege of slumber.

\--

For a couple of months, the Squire was wracking his brains to figure out something that would satisfy the request of the Prince. It had not meant to be a difficult task to accomplish as the Squire was allowed baby steps, courtesy of the Prince who didn’t show a sign of annoyance.

He didn’t share the sentiment of the Prince who was telling him he was doing well with trying to fulfill his need for a creative means of learning. There was something that Paul could not reach, no matter how much he was listing down methods to help John unwind a little. 

Every time he had a plan, it was just another strategy that was short-lived. Role-plays were fun to the Prince. They were helping him, however Paul was beginning to dislike it a little—the roles that John played were the ones who solved the problem, or was close to it, but what ended up happening was Paul suggesting the options he could choose from, and him answering, “yeah, that”.

It was fun, but even John wasn’t enjoying that it was always political. Paul couldn’t help it, as part of his Princely duties, most of his life would be around being a diplomat—making decisions that applied to everyone under his feet. Any proclamation could affect them, no matter how minor they may appear to be, and if they were not ones that they could fulfill, it would set a bad example to the Prince.

He couldn’t allow the people to spit at the Prince he was growing to like very much. He couldn’t let that happen to Aunt Mimi who worked tooth and nail for the two.

He had to find an answer soon.. he was running out of John’s patience. One could only stretch elastic so much before it loses the flexibility in the fibers. The same case with John—Paul was only lucky that John liked him too much to complain.

Clenching his fist, he hit the table with a frustrated sigh. Nothing was working!

Currently holed up in his room, he told John to take a couple of days off while he finds something that could give them a good activity to resume the studies with. It’s been two and about eleven months, nearing the third year of being with the two, he has taught John more than he assumed he could teach. 

John was good at catching cues as fast as he was given, and despite his dismissive attitude, he was very fast to learn most concepts of mathematics, the history of the Lennon Kingdom and Liverpool, geographical necessities in order to assess land management, political strategies, some things on science as Paul was showing him how biology works—more of those interactive lessons and a reason to go out and explore..

What remained was addressing the people of the Kingdom, handling slaves, personal matters in the Kingdom, general etiquette, and what is expected of him as future King. He would also have to learn public speaking, standing tall when things get tough, and courting a proper woman—or man if they permit it such. He never heard of two Princes coming together and ruling one Kingdom, nor two Princesses unless they were siblings.

Paul presumed that they still upheld their law of forbidden relationships. Even if John wanted to be in a relationship with a fellow male, it had to be in the closet, as a fling and nothing more. Like having a mistress, but the same sex.

He had many interpersonal traits he had to help John with. Paul was lucky that John didn’t need to work on his welcoming nature, having shown it the first day in such a manner it stuck to Paul to this day, how kind that Prince was the minute he saw him. There was no undertone of their difference in lineage or how Paul should be viewed in a condescending manner. 

The Prince had always treated him like a friend, and not like a slave.

It shook his very core that there were nobles that existed that would treat others the way he would’ve if he was a rank higher than them. He thought he might’ve been the only Prince who would be associating even with the lowest of class, seeing the many who viewed him as garbage when the King had him in his chambers.

The glances of the Knights and the King’s vassals were a deep insult to Paul who was supposed to be an equal to them—if not higher. They had no reason to be spitting upon him as if he was scum.

Shaking his head, he went back to the list he created. Role-plays, scavenger hunts, playful trivia, games of John’s choice, worksheets, handouts that every instructor would do. He had no intention on asking Richie or Hazza about it as he was still hesitant on telling them that he was not exactly a sibling of Lenny but his teacher..

They still hadn’t met John to see the difference in their features to question the legitimacy of the statement. He just hoped that they would not take the truth harshly. 

“Hei Paulie!”

The Prince entering the room got Paul to draw a crooked line on the paper, eyes wide.

“Yes, John? Did Aunt Mimi show you how to wash clothes or something?”

“She did, and it was horrible. My hands are as old as a grandpa!” to emphasize his point, he showed his currently wrinkled hands to Paul. “I wouldn’t do this in the Castle, why show me?”

Then a wry smile came up Paul’s face.

“She was probably showing you the burdens she carries..”

“But you do the laundry with her!”

“Maybe she was showing you the tasks regular people do.”

“Harrumph.” John scoffed with a pout before landing a gaze at Paul’s hand that drew a messy line on the paper. “What’cha doing there?”

“Still thinking…”

“Not straightly, I see.” He raised a brow before flipping into a grin. “Good good.”

At this, the Squire raised a brow.

“Alright Johnny, what do you have in mind?”

“I wanted to see how it is to.. y’know, dance. Ye know how to do that?”

“Might… I was shown how they do it a long time ago.” He didn’t have to tell John that he used to playfully dance with his Mother in his youth. It was more of her swaying around and carrying her too little child in her arms and twirling him around to make him laugh.

“Some other day, John? Your hands are all wrinkly, and you’re sweaty..”

“Yeah, but it’s the end of the day, and I’m bored..”

Paul smiled again. He did some time away from his work.. being with Aunt Mimi and John was very much enjoyable. Aunt Mimi would tell him of her day in the Square, the different people she met and the things she had to deal with—mostly hilarious customers who tried flirting with her. John would quip that she was too old for romance, too hard-shelled, and besides, who would like a gremlin?

She would skillfully answer back that this was why she wasn’t married again. Paul was never sure if he should laugh until he would see her slapping the table, chuckling loudly.

“I would warn you, I never really formally danced with anyone, much more.. a male.”

“But ye might not ever dance with a bird, so try me.”

The Prince’s wrinkled hand slipped into the Squire’s and he pulled him up from the chair he was seated on. Placing the quill pen onto the table, he stood up in front of John with nothing but wide eyes questioning him. The initiative that was in the Prince vanished in a second, now replaced with complete and utter confusion.

“A little help, Paulie?”

“What do you want me to do?”

John smiled nervously. “I want to ask _you_ that. What am I supposed to do to start it? _”_

“Oh.” Paul blinked before glancing at their hands. “Well.. you have to decide what role you want.”

“I don’t really know..”

“Alright, then I’ll lead to show you. I’ve seen these dances in a book once.”

“Those fairy-tales you have in the shelf?”

“Yeah, pretty much.” Paul’s nonchalance about it had John wanting to gape. No lad would be confident enough to admit that they read fairy-tales that were made for birds. Guess it added to the many things the Squire read about. “Now since you’re the partner, you put your hands on my shoulders.”

The Squire hand, with ever such gentle strokes of an artist, lifted John’s hand to have it rest upon his shoulder. He repeated the same with his other hand.

“Now, as to how close you are standing depends on the relationship you’re in. If you both are intimate, you stand closer, and if not, keep a little distance.” Paul took a step back to keep a little gap between them, his smaller hands drawing down to his waist. “The lead keeps their hands on their partner’s waist, like this.”

John observed with nothing but a gleam in his eyes. He didn’t know why, but he was shot with pangs of relief and appreciation that he was trying it first with Paul and not some lovely lady he would be courting in the possible future. He didn’t want his firsts to be going to someone else. He watched with keen eyes how Paul’s treated him like fine China, so kind and courteous, with a kind glance.

“Then the lead starts the dance. Now the type of dance depends on the moment. If it’s an intimate time, you simply sway back and forth. Make sure you don’t step on your partner’s foot.” The last bit, he added with a little laughter, and John noted was because he was too close to step on his foot.

Whoops.

“If the dance is for a different occasion, you could do more than just swaying back and forth.”

“Then I could show my mad Lennon skills.”

Paul giggled. “Exactly.”

“You think Meems would be thinking we’re lunatics for dancing in here?” John asked after a moment of swaying in slow circular motions, Paul’s mind buzzing with the need to come up with something to help John in concentrating. Even as they were “practicing”, John’s mind was elsewhere, a little too much centered onto Paul as if he was trying to read his mind, read every flash of emotion that crossed Paul’s way.

“Why would she?” the Squire blinked once, genuinely not understanding why Aunt Mimi would judge them on something the Prince would have to know about in the future. “I’m not wearing a dress, and you’re not either..”

“But we’re two lads dancing…”

“And?” Paul took a step back, nudging John to take one forward, but his foot leapt a little ahead, hopping straight at his socked feet. He pressed his lips, slipping his foot away. “This is going to take a while…”

“Did I just..?” The Prince glanced down then flushed. “Oh, sorry…”

“It’s fine. Rome was not built in a day.”

“But I will be Crowned King in a day.”

“A couple of years of evaluation, actually. When your father retires.” The Squire countered in a matter-of-fact manner. John scoffed.

“And I marry a bird.”

Paul raised his brows.

“A woman, you mean?”

“Yes you posh son of a —,” he caught himself before he could swear, “a woman.”

\--

_Pristine purity clouded his vision._

_Where he was supposed to be facing the ceiling of Mendips Fortress, above his head were the gentlest shade of baby blue, and under his body was more powder of white, soft as the fur of a lamb and sheep, fleeing like a cloud. Hazel eyes blinked a couple of times, taking in the serene light of his surroundings._

_‘Am I dead?’ should not have been his first thought, but here he was. It’s been on the back of his mind for too long, his foot firmly on its door, praying to hear again that song wishing to be over._

_What had his body move was the hymn that flowed throughout the place. His ears picked the soft notes and kept it in his mind as if it was the only reason why he had no fear of where he was. His mind, so eager and willing, sought out the source of these notes that woke up a strange energy in him._

_Rising out of absolute necessity, he lifted his body to a sit up, glancing to and fro for the cradle holding these hymns._

_When his eyes nearly found what they were looking for, a pale hand veiled his vision, pressing him back onto the soft surface._

_“Do not rise, my Jamie.”_

_Set back down, Paul’s hands reached for the one hovering over his eyes. Long, pale fingers so tender and adoring, with a voice that held the child in a warm embrace.. the pure gold ring slipped on her ring finger…_

_Only one maiden possessed such an accent._

_“Mother..?” he murmured without a sound, gnawing his lower lip. Was he finally offered his last rites?_

_The keys she strummed spoke for her in whimsical melodies. Under her hand, he sniffled._

_“Oh Mother..” he no longer cared if he couldn’t appear as a proper lad in front of her. He just wanted to be pulled near her, under her arms and wipe away each tear from his eyes, caress the pain out of him._

_He realized then he really could not go on without her. Every day away from her was like dying every night but punished by living on the Earth that didn’t have her smiles, her kind words, her warmth. It was so cold.._

_Paul sniffled like a child, lips trembling._

_“My little Jamie.. so beautiful. You’ve grown so strong in so little time.”_

_She sung in the rhythm of a thousand whispering bells, tickling him like an Angel’s wings spread._

_“Dear little Jamie. My son I hold nothing but pride for.”_

_Paul’s eyes shifted to the side, longing to see his dear mother who was running her hand along the sweet trebles, drawing out soft notes that awaited a voice to complement. He wanted to listen to her and nothing more._

_The music, and her._

_“Mummy..”_

_“My beautiful child. Do not mourn..”_

_With another sniffle, he shook his head. Her sinewy hand wiped the wisp of tears that begun its stream down his eyes. His Mother really was there, wiping his cheeks dry of his uncontrolled cries of unspoken despair._

_“Mum, why can’t I be where you are?”_

_Her hand remained on the glistening keys, lingering on the four notes she pressed as her face came closer to his and left a little kiss on his forehead. Her words simple with a hush._

_“You are here now, are you not?”_

_The child shook his head again. “I’m going to leave again. I won’t see you, ever.”_

_“Time may only dictate that. Did you not want me here?”_

_“I do, but I don’t want to bother you..”_

_As he bit into his lip another time, her fingers lowered, removing his lip from his teeth._

_“A son can always bother their mothers. That is why he is a son.”_

_The child took in a shaky breath. Golly.. the one person he was supposed to be standing tall and proud in front of, and he was presenting himself a bawling mess. He was not eight years old anymore. He was dawning upon eleven years. If he lived in a time older than this, he would be a young adult. A man, and not a little boy._

_Why couldn’t he show his Mother that he was not a foolish baby who suckled onto his thumb as it was the Mother’s…?_

_“Mum.. I’m not half the boy I used to be.”_

_Eyes uncovered, he saw his Mother smile at him, smiling as if he was the most precious being on Earth that held all her love._

_“You’re not.. you’ve grown up, and still you are lovely.”_

_He swallowed a tearful lump._

_“You haven’t let the world take you.”_

_He was sure he had._

_“You’re passing along your wisdom onto a dear little friend of yours. No child your age could manage such a task.”_

_“I don’t have a choice..”_

_He saw her shake her head._

_“You’ve taken your choice, Jamie. A mature and wise choice.”_

_His Mother’s hand came down, ghosting over am arm. It was still so surreal.. his Mother sitting in front of him, smiling down with nothing but peace in her lovely eyes. That face that reminded him to take life with kindness—every action as a favour to repay, little miracles sprinkled like rain onto the dry ground. The voice that told him to stay gentle no matter how much people would pin him down and violate his soul—invalidate him and mark him as a useless pawn. The eyes that saw the pain so deep rooted into his heart and spread her arms to hold him tight._

_Her hand met his. Long, sinewy hands met tiny, tubby hands and closed upon them. That hand that accentuated her presence—her existence that had never left him no matter how much his current set of eyes couldn’t see._

_“You’re going to be fighting for all your life, and sometimes, you will lose.” He was being pulled up by her hand, not forcefully, but asking without the use of words or vocals, “but you cannot let that loss consume you.”_

_“Mum…”_

_“You’re doing very well. When you lose, rest, then rise up again and carry forward.”_

_“Am I doing it right..?”_

_Now seated up by the strength of her hand, his eyes went to the object to his side. Standing tall and upright, the material was a soft wood, so dark and brown, much taller than he was in his current moment. His Mother was pressing keys on this instrument and from there, he heard those sweet notes she played sound into the air._

_“I am teaching a Prince right now.. I’m his teacher.”_

_“And his friend. You’re doing perfectly, my son.” Her hand insisted he stand, pulling him once again with a smile unmoved. “I can tell your brother and your daddy that his first son has become a teacher. So young and he’s already teaching a child.”_

_He stood up at her silent request, blinking a couple of times in case he opens his eyes and sees all of this gone before him. His Mother let out a little giggle, and he found himself smiling to that._

_“Come up here, Jamie. I know you are looking for something.” She did not let go of his little hand, beckoning him closer with a move of her head. She was motioning him to sit beside her with this instrument of trebles. “You want to find a way to help your friend some more, do you not?”_

_“You know about that…?” to say he was bewildered was an understatement. He hadn’t recovered from his surprise upon seeing her breathing, smiling and ability to hold his hand in hers, knowing all that he has done despite being away in the Kingdom of Heaven where she belongs.._

_Simply something._

_“I see you every day, my little Jamie, working so hard till his brain burst..” finally near the cushioned bench she was seated upon, he sat down—thigh nearly brushing hers. “You have played this with Mummy before, do you remember?”_

_He then smiled, running his hands along the white and black keys, not quite pressing but letting his fingers brush along them with fondness. How could he have forgotten his piano? The large instrument that he loved as much as he loved his family—the being that made his nonsense have a ring to it. A melody that was pleasing to the ears, having the listener wish they could keep listening even if they were close to passing out.._

_“I remember.”_

_She released her hold on his hand in favour for wrapping it along his side, bringing him closer to her, to let her child rest his head on her shoulder. On instinct, he closed his eyes._

_“Then let us play, dear Jamie. Remember how it made you feel when you were not happy with training with your Father, or when you were displeased by your little brother taking what was yours.”_

_Both of his hands reached for the keys, leaning on the bass as his Mother’s hand lingered on the treble. A long press of the shy keys compelled him to press the ones beside it, going back and forth, letting his fingers sway along as he was earlier with John, the young little Prince who asked him to dance._

_Oh, little did the Prince know that he was dancing every minute of his life. Every act was a dance of its own._

_“Sing, my dear.”_

_And he sang, joining his Mother who ran low, following the bass notes he was playing. His own voice, soft and shaky it was, highlighted the treble her fingers perched upon. Singing choruses and throwing in words that met the notes, the two diverted from going with folk songs to ones they were creating in the slumbering moment._

_Keys pressed harder, producing louder sounds to match their raised tones as the bridge came into place. Finding his lungs slowing, Paul allowed the piano to sing, filling the spaces he_ _missed before he picked up again, singing one line over and over again after hearing it in the comforting voice of his Mother._

_“Let it be.”_

_“There will be an answer,” my son._

_Paul drawled on a note before letting the piano finish it before realizing what his Mother was telling him. The answer to his long question had come. He couldn’t keep chasing it and forcing_ _it down, he had to let it come to him on its own accord. There was still a light that shone down on him, he just had to let it._

_“Do you know what you will be doing?” Curiosity surrounded her smile as she broke the longing silence formed between them. Paul gave her a small nod._

_If he was putting it into the context he needed to.. this was the release that John needed. Not a dance with his future love, not pretending scenarios that may not exist, but pouring himself into a song. It just wasn’t the same to be singing songs that weren’t straight out of his heart._

_Those songs were songs, but they were not John nor Paul._

_He beamed at his Mother, throwing his arms around her knowing he won’t be able to do it once more. Her smile grew, enveloping her arms around him, pulling her child as close to her as physically possible._

_“I know you will do splendidly.”_

_He buried his face onto her shoulder, biting back fresh tears that were welling up his eyes. It was not out of sorrow of never seeing her again, but of joy that she was omnipresent. She never left and won’t, she was still there helping him whenever he needed it most. When he felt like giving up despite the love around him—of Richie, of Hazza, of John, of Aunt Mimi.. His_ _Mother was there to keep him on his feet._

_And by God, he loved her so._

_Feeling a kiss on the top of his head, he broke down._

_“I love you, Mum.” He repeated like a mantra as his life depended upon it. In a way, it had. He couldn’t bind the demons that were growing too big inside of him, threatening to drain him dry and burn the length and breadth of the sky. Paul was losing both the battle and the war._

_Truly, no one expected an eleven-year-old child to fight and emerge victorious alone, did they?_

_“I love you too, Jamie. Always will.”_

_He wept onto her shoulder, trembling his words like a prayer to the pious Mary, taking away the sins and the wounds it caused him._

_“I am very happy that you are born of my womb.”_

\--

The Squire awoke to the tugging of his shoulder. 

Opening his eyes, he met the gazes of both Aunt Mimi and the Prince, both wide with concern. John had his hand on Paul’s shoulder, the reason for the tugging seconds ago. Paul felt a bony hand land on his forehead, checking his temperature as he blinked, glancing at the two, inquisitorial.

“John? Aunt Mimi?”

Wow, did his voice sound like it was scraped on sand-paper.

“Y’okay Paulie? You were crying in your sleep.” John didn’t have a quip laced in his voice, telling Paul that he was genuinely surprised by the actions of his teacher. “And ye’re in the living room.”

“Any bit closer and you would’ve been in the firewood!”Aunt Mimi added, removing her hand from his forehead. “But at least you aren’t running a fever. That’s a relief.”

Paul blinked again. The living room? How was he there? Didn’t he return to his room after picking a couple of books from the shelf? He must’ve been so caught up reading his books that he didn’t realize that he hadn’t quite moved from his place in the living room.

“What? Crying? I couldn’t have been…”

Maybe it was more of a worry to John as he’s never seen Paul cry before. Not once, not any time until now. He was a child too, it shouldn’t be that much of a shocker… should it?

“It’s okay.. ye can keep crying if ye want. Meems and I won’t call you names or nuthin’.”

Thoughtless it may have been, but the Squire expected a quip from the Prince—about how he was a baby. It didn’t help that he still had a babyface, it would be more fitting if he acted his age, or what he appeared to be.

“I’m fine, John.. I just had a dream.” He ran a finger across his upper cheek before smiling. “A rather nice dream.”

“If it was nice, it wouldn’t have you crying…” John frowned cutely, and Paul almost laughed at how Aunt Mimi had matched his pout, pursing her lips skeptically. “I only cry if I had a nightmare.”

“Oh John, have you been living under a rock? Young Paul doesn’t cry over nightmares..”

And like a switch flicking on, John’s quips started.

“Actually Aunt Mimi, I have been living under a rock. It’s called Mendips Fortress.” He pointed out as if it was the most obvious statement in the world, waving a careless hand around like a wheel.

“Well, I am sorry it is not the lavish Kingdom that is waiting for you.”

“But it’s better. I get to keep ya and Paulie to m’self and not share!” and there it went, his cheeky statement held truths that Paul and Aunt Mimi had to be blind if they couldn’t see it. Paul blinked a couple of times when John threw one arm around his shoulder, and the other around Aunt Mimi, pulling them both close to him.

“Oh yes, little Paul would catch every person’s attention, so cute and innocent he looks.” Aunt Mimi couldn’t help but laugh as John pulled the boy’s cheek as she commented haughtily.

“And so smart he is.” Paul raised a brow at the sudden accent that John labelled—the posh. “Why, I’d have to fight all my people to keep him with me!”

“Imagine all the girls going around him.”

“Or boys if he’s into that..” then John grinned long. “Ey Paulie, ye into lads or birds?”

And Paul could only blink again before exclaiming in question.

“ _What?_ ”

“Awwww, Auntie look, he’s all flustered!”

“Indeed, so adorable.. those women won’t stop pinching his cheeks.”

“And those lads would try pretending he’s a little bird, sweet talking and shite.”

The Squire didn’t quite understand what was happening. He just woke up, didn’t get to drag a comb across his head and the two were up at him like a riot, shots firing after another before he could respond to any of them. Heat grew to his cheeks when John was implanting strange images to his head with his words. He couldn’t possibly think of girls or boys in any way due to the way his life has played out.

He didn’t want to think about relationships.

Oh, and he didn’t bother calling out the Prince on his language. Not this time.

“You’re not serious.” He ended up mumbling out of disbelief, and John and Aunt Mimi shared a glance.

“What are you talking about, young Paul? John and I are always serious.”

“Too serious for our own good!”

“You’re not serious.” He repeated, and the two let the fakest gasps, their hands slapping their chest in mock horror.

“Auntie, he’s not taking us seriously!”

“That’s a dreadful miscarriage!”

“Indeed, it is!”

“How do we prove that we are serious?”

“We’ll have to let our eyes show it.”

Then the Squire was met with two pairs of glares, both eyes gleaming with the intent to frighten him as Hazza did when they first met. That time, he wasn’t intimidated as Hazza was imposing himself as a bully to him, but with these two? He wasn’t even sure what they were trying to do. Glare until he believes they’re serious?

Surely, they were not! Those glares proved that.

“You’re not serious!”

“He’s in denial!”

“Such a stubborn lad… John, this is your doing!”

“What? I’m not a gremlin who stares into their victim’s souls!”

“But I am not the oh so high Prince Lennon who must be obeyed at all times.”

The two began to shout at each other

“Come off that Meems, I’m not always all high and imposing!”

“You should ask poor little Paul that!” she pointed at the Squire. “Poor lad is so shaken, he’s at a loss of words.”

“That’s yer doing!”

Finding the two so preoccupied in their silly little banter session, Paul shrugged his shoulders and slid away from the two in favour of going to the restroom across the halls. Relief washed over him at the thought of being out of emphasis by the two. He couldn’t stand being in the center where all he could do is stare in mild amazement. 

Bringing a hand to his chin, his eyes caught sight of the mirror in the restroom. Often it was in the bedroom for them to view their silken robes, for the attendants to be set aside and be able to see for themselves what covered their skin, what young and vulnerable being stood under it all.

“Even if I washed me face, it would’ve been noticeable.” He mumbled, index finger finding its way to his lips, slipping in. It wasn’t something he could hide.. the words of his eyes. Eyes were the windows to the soul, and the window had opened up. His soul laid bare to John and Aunt Mimi—breaking through all the shells that kept it inside.

When was he honest to them? 

His hands palmed the mirror, eyes wide. What was he saying? He was always honest with them about himself, just keeping the dirty details from them. The bloodshed that they didn’t have to know about was the only thing that was set under a rug. But why.. was he so ugly? Would they still love him the way they did if knew about his family and where he really was from? A petty son of a nobody?

Running the faucet, he splashed his face repeatedly. How lovely it would be if every caress of the water could change his face, change his life, rid of all he lived with, who he was and who he will be. He ran his hands through his hair, washing the sweat off his brow.

Opening his puffed eyes, he repeated to himself what his dear Mother told him in the dream. It was his fate to make John the best there ever was. That, he wasn’t ashamed to do. If his Mother told him to keep it up, he will make sure he does.

“Happy Birthday me.” He fluffed up his hair and giggled. “John’s going to be thirteen this year… five more years until he’ll return to the Kingdom. Have to make sure his training is done.”

Knocks came upon the door, and the Squire turned his face.

“Yeah?”

“Y’alright in there? Been a while.” John was calling from the other side. 

“I’m good, just give me a minute.” He found a smile gracing its way once more. It was unfortunate that reverie of being invisible was gone, but he didn’t mind John being the cause.

His parents would’ve preferred it if he spent his day with the two who loved him most. Maybe he could invite Hazza and Richie! It’s been a while since he’s sent them a letter.

“John, you at the door?”

“Yes! I’m waiting for my darlin’ Paulie who’s doing his beauty wash.”

Paul repressed a giggle.

“Okay Johnny boy, please move away so I could get out.”

“But I want to give ya a kissey kiss!”

Now he snorted.

“Golly John, really? You’ll have to move or else the door will kiss you.”

He heard John gasp and jump. Hopefully away from the door.. he would find out soon with a twist of the lever. Pushing it ahead, his eyes met with the Prince who pressed himself to the wall with a pout.

“See, no kissying the door..”

“John, why do you want to… do that?”

He saw the Prince begin to flush. It was an adorable change to his naturally confident posture, something the Squire hadn’t seen often. It was a good present.

“I wanted to show that I appreciate you.” His cute little pout muffled his words effectively, and Paul finally understood why Aunt Mimi had the temptation to pull his cheeks as often as she did. Now he wanted to pull John’s cheeks because it was suddenly so squishy and child-like.

“And you think a kiss would prove that?”

John opened his mouth to retort, then closed it before glancing straight at Paul.

“I saw it in one of those fairy-tales you have in the shelf.”

“John, you’re delirious. First dancing, and now kissing? One would think you’re…” he crept up close to whisper a word in his ear, causing the Prince to flush completely.

“Well, I’m not! I just want to see how it is.”

An odd smile came across Paul’s face. It had a touch of disturbance, yet contemplation, as if he was second guessing what he wanted and should do. Maybe he didn’t want to do it but started to believe it was an order he couldn’t refuse.

That would be too cruel of an order if Paul wasn’t going to like it.

“It’s not an order, Paulie..”

“Okay.” His smile lightened slightly, the disturbed air shifting, but the contemplation of it hadn’t budged. Whatever was in the mind of the Squire, he couldn’t really tell. “Um, John, I do have something for you today, if it’s alright with you..”

“A present?” the way the Prince perked up like the sun rise had the Squire giggle. Gosh, what was up with him today? “No way! For me?”

“Yes, for you.”

The Prince’s shoulders came to a sudden slump as the sun went down. The Squire hand came up, itching the back of his head.

“Y’alright John?”

“My present is another lesson, isn’t it?” Golly, Paul never seen John so gloom in a comical moment as he was now.

“No.. I’ve found something that you would like.” He resisted another giggle, seeing how John’s pout deepened as if he was denied the best treat in the dessert selection. “I don’t think we have any instruments in here…”

“Only writing instruments.” John deadpanned, pulling a quill pen out of his vest pocket. Paul gave a wry smile.

“We’ll need that too.”

“So, what’s the idea? You’ll play baroque music and put me to sleep for my fun activity.” Actually, sleep didn’t sound so bad… “I’ll consider it a good idea, but not your best, Paulie.”

Why was he being judged on an idea he didn’t even come up with?

“Close. I was thinking… we write music.”

He received a blank stare, and a lower than the bowels the Earth’s core “what?”

“We can write music, John. You and I could write songs.. We could see if Hazza and Richie are into it too.”

“But I can’t write songs!”

Then Paul blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I can’t figure out what instrument plays what note, I..” he shifted his gaze away from the Squire, swallowing heavy. “Besides, I’d sound terrible.”

“You don’t need that part, you have musings.. I’ve seen a couple.” The Squire smiled again, running a gentle hand on John’s shoulder. “Besides, you’d sound amazing.”

“How can you tell?” The Prince felt stupid asking a fellow child if he really had value. Of course, he would say yes, he is the damned Squire Paulie, he always supported him!

He needed to see it in the boy’s eyes if it was true or just empty words. “You never heard me sing before.”

“That’s true, but we could give it a try and see!”

He really wasn’t going to give up on that idea, was he? There was something in the way the Squire had clung to the idea, stuck to it as if it came from a revelation too important to him. Who else would be confident enough to believe that a method they’ve never tried would be exactly what they need?

“…Let’s give it a try, eh?”

Paul’s smile grew, and John couldn’t help but be captivated once more. The Squire’s smiles were enough of achievements for him—they came so rare, and when they did, it had his heart jump. It was definitely a smile to kiss your mother with.

Very fascinating.

“You’re going to love it, Johnny. It’s going to be like nothing you’ve ever done before.”

“John! How long are you going to keep the poor boy trapped in the bathroom? Come on down and have breakfast.” Aunt Mimi pulled the two out of their little trance of gazing and gazing into each other. The Prince couldn’t move away from the Squire, it felt like a crime to part his eyes from meeting the younger boy’s. Who knew eyes could be so beautiful?

“C’mon Paulie, before we give her grey hairs!”

John grinned wide, hand taking the one on his shoulder before running to the kitchen where Aunt Mimi was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading~


	9. A Little Continuation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goodness, this one took a while... Couple of things for this one.  
> \- A little misgendering in this chapter. Comes from the fact that many people actually thought Paul has a bit of a girly face when he was much younger (the eyebrows, long eyelashes and all). Aunt Mimi doesn't want him hearing the labels homophobic people create, so she does not correct them.  
> \- A plethora of silly puns are in this one. I don't know how they came up, but they did.  
> \- Also I made a [silly little thing on my Tumblr sideblog](https://a-wanderers-queue.tumblr.com/post/614953655440965632/some-silly-musing)

\--

More than anything else, the Squire was focused on having little letters sent to his two friends Hazza and Richie rather than the breakfast that was laid out in front of him, the Prince and his Aunt. He felt their gazes bearing into his head as he rolled the little leaflets as a mini scroll to attach to the bird's leg. The bird he was going to attain through the market with Aunt Mimi since she knew her way around it.

It just stayed like that for a couple of minutes. The two trying to eat their breakfast, but watching Paul getting letters out with great urgency.

"Shouldn't you eat first, Paulie?" John tapped the table impatiently. The lad has been writing on the dining table for a couple of minutes now, too eager for his liking. The Prince wanted to spend a long, fun day with the Squire and his Aunt, btu if they were going to get past breakfast, he would have to say goodbye to all his ideas.

That he didn't want to do.

"In a bit, Johnny." The Squire replied without sparing a glance at him. "Let me finish these first, if that's alright.."

"It's not alright." John deadpanned and received a spoon to his hand by Aunt Mimi. "Wow, you can't do that to His Majesty Lennon himself."

"When you're in this household, you're still little John, John."

The Prince pouted, his arms crossing against one another around his chest with a huff.

"Let little Paul write till his heart's content." Aunt Mimi snickered a little, a supportive hand rubbing Paul's back. "It's an important day of his."

"Yeah." John flicked a bit of his scrambled eggs at Paul with his fork. "A freaking hot day. It's disgusting."

Paul didn't really pay attention to anything John said, knowing he meant none of it. He wasn't fond of birthdays himself—it was just another day. So, he was born, big whoop. It wasn't like his birthday united the world or saved the Prince from facing the brunt of his family's separation, leaving him here in temporary house arrest. His birthday didn't stop the vicious attacks upon his own family, it just reminded him that he only survived the whole ordeal.

It put a bitter taste in his mouth, worse than the bile that was threatening to rise up.

"Paul, would you like to accompany me to the market today? We could send your letters and perhaps get you a little treat."

At this, the Squire's eyes perked up with a smile so childish, any witty comeback just flew away from the Prince. He was eleven today, and the first thing he does is remind the Prince that he was freaking adorable.

He's maturing, but still was the baby of their group.

"Of course, Aunt Mimi. I'd love to have these out for Hazza and Richie." He didn't make a comment on the treat, John noticed with a raise of his brow, resting his head on his palm. If he recalled well, this might be one of the first few times they will be celebrating Paul's birthday. The first time he came into their lives, they couldn't celebrate the birth of someone they didn't know about—he arrived a month after it.

The first year they could've, Paul had himself holed in his room, and John saw another Paul that time. Paul who was usually blank and controlled—almost expressionless was seething throughout the day, keeping his words to a minimum. John supposed that the boy wasn't comfortable with sharing any detail with them, so they left him alone for that time.

Then again.. it could've been John's fault that time. He gave the Squire a very hard time with the lessons...

The second year they found out just the night of it since Paul began counting years and Aunt Mimi, shell-shocked, asked when his birthday was, and that time he gave a completely placid, "oh, today."

John and Aunt Mimi made sure to mark it into their calendars.

"I've never been to the Market, can't I come along?" he asked after a minute of thought, watching Paul smile small in accomplishment. How was it possible to brighten up at the smallest actions? How such small actions caused John's heart to jump and wish there always was a smile across his chubby cheeks?

Golly. Dancing with him yesterday really did a strange spell work on him. Maybe it was a special skill Paul had.

Nah, he was too caught up in those damned letters to be deliberately charming John. He wouldn't be helping him court a bird if he liked John... Or well, he would've. He didn't appear to be the kind who selfishly held people to his hip. The Squire use his love for the Prince to make sure he has the best partner available. That was his way.

Goddamnit.. if he wasn't going to act on his own impulse, the Prince would never have a chance. Then again... what is he thinking? He couldn't be thinking of courting the Squire. He couldn't be thinking of spending the rest of his life getting old with the Squire, it was just not the life for him.

He was soon to be King in five years or more, and he would have to marry a lovely Princess and rule over England. He didn't have time for egotistical goals.

"You can come too, John. Just keep a cloak with Paul." Aunt Mimi's smile helped divert his attention from the adorable Squire, noticing her slight furrow of her brow. "I didn't know you wanted to come along.."

"I do if Paul has to go. It's boring all alone here."

He felt Paul's eyes come up to him, wide and curious before it returned to the breakfast that must've been cold by now. Glancing down for a second or two, he saw him blinking sheepishly. _That's what you get for not eating first, ya silly git._

"In an hour we'll go. It should be enough time to prepare ourselves and have the Fortress gates on."

"Yeah, it'll take Paulie a whole hour to finish his breakfast." The Prince rolled his eyes, growing into a smirk upon seeing the Squire's flushing, so meek and oblivious, innocent and unaware. Catching him off guard was Aunt Mimi thwacking him on the back of his head. Ought to teach him a thing or two about uncalled statements.

He let out a little shriek, instantly catching Paul's concerned attention.

"Come off it, John. He's not used to this sort of thing."

"Did you have to hit me for that? I don't see you hitting Paulie when he says something off-hand."

Aunt Mimi raised an indignant brow.

"Has he ever made one? Not to my methods, he has been very respectful." To emphasize her point, she huffed. "There is a reason why he is your teacher."

"Despite being my junior." John rolled his eyes another time, and Paul cut the sausage with a chop of his fork before passing it onto John's plate. "Look at that! He's making it look like I didn't finish my meal!"

"Seems to me that he's sharing his food, as he usually does."

"Yeah right. Sharin' is the polite way of saying he's repulsed by your cookin', Mimi."

Raising her brows, she shifted a pensive gaze to the Squire.

"Do you dislike it, little Paul? I made breakfast a little special for you today."

The Squire's big doe eyes went up to her, blinking as if he really wasn't paying attention to anything but the letters and now the task of eating.

"Oh no, Aunt Mimi. It's wonderful, just a lot."

"I figured you would need a little more meat to those bones—your cheeks steal it all." She pulled a cheek, earning a laugh from John and Paul—John teasing and Paul out of courtesy. She freed his cheek soon after. "If you would be protecting my nephew in the future, we need you to become strong."

"Of course, thank you." He gave her a grateful smile, wanting to giggle at how sweet that little sentiment truly was. She wasn't playing bias with either of them, she only treated them the way they treated her, and that was why John and her had a quip-filled relationship. The two were so casual with one another, it was more of a sibling relationship rather than a strict Aunt with her rebel nephew. With Paul, he treated her gently, and thus he received softer words and actions from her. It was professional, but empathic as Aunt Mimi rather disdained to leave him in his own work. She feared his state of mind—having not a clue as to how his family was, but only that he hid all his emotional turmoil in a box that was chained on every angle.

The dream in the morning, he called a pleasant one. Was it really?

If Paul were to play coy with her, she would return it two-fold as she does with John.

"Don't thank her Paulie." John interrupted their little reverie. "Meems just wants to fatten you up before she could have a great big meal."

When the two raised a brow at John, he continued. "I mean, she'd be getting the best of both worlds: Intelligence and a hearty meal."

John revelled in the moment he saw Paul believe him for a second. That one second that flashed by hazel eyes—the horror of the possibility he was just being used for a ploy of theirs. A glance at Aunt Mimi, who stood agape told him otherwise. She wouldn't be flabbergasted if it was true.

"John, what in the ever living make you come up with that?"

"You feeding Paulie extra today. Poor sod can barely hold it. See? Now he's making you eat some of it."

"It's a great breakfast, Aunt Mimi, but a little too much..." he repeated with a small shrug of his shoulders, smiling sheepishly.

"You want to enjoy it with us." She added and the Squire nodded as quick as a child when their mother invites them to the toy store. The Prince had to put effort into returning to the unamused frown he had. It must've been ingrained in him to always be grateful for every little thing he earnt from others, and every time he was given something, it showed. There was never a time where the Squire had given a reaction akin to the Prince.

It'd be a spectacle though.

-

It took close to an hour to be prepared for the two children. Every time the squire picked out clothes for the Prince to wear, he would toss them on the floor with a cheeky grin, telling him that it wasn't good enough to show to the public. The Squire was picking clothes that were the least conspicuous to his status as they never knew who would come up and try nicking him away for a ransom.

He couldn't risk that while he didn't have a weapon to defend the poor Prince with. Of course, John couldn't seem to understand that, wanting to wear outfits that signified his Princely status because...

"Because it is my teacher's day, and I want the world to know how great he is."

"Wouldn't they just look at you and say how wonderful you are?"

"Yes, but I couldn't have gotten there without me teachy!"

"They'll ignore that and rob you blind."

"I'm already getting blind, son."

"What?!"

"Don't be shocked, me Mum's got bad eyes and she passed it along."

"John, you're not even thirteen yet."

"But I feel like fifty already."

"John..."

The Squire didn't bother giving in to the wishes of the Prince for safety measures, picking up the pair he dropped onto the floor—well, the remains of the floor as it created a clothing hill. Ah, he would have to fold those later.

"Why can't I dress as who I am?" John asked after a while, glancing at the clothes splayed upon his bed. He didn't miss the amused raise of Paul's arched brows.

"Never knew His Highness wanted to dress like a fancy ponce, as you would call it."

"Wouldn't ye want to show the fruits of your labour? If I dress well, people would see the improvement.."

"They'd just see a target they could nick as much money out of." The lack of amusement in his tone set John off. Perhaps making light wasn't something that he should try in this current moment. Suppose Paul would have to teach him more about tact before he returns to the Kingdom and becomes the laughingstock.

"But they're my people.."

Paul's gaze had John bit his lip, uncertainty washing over him like a flood submerging him.

"While that's true, not everyone's going to follow you with a smile on their faces." Thankfully, sweet doe eyes went down to the buttons on his shirt. "Some require force to follow you.." he wasn't sure if he wanted to hear what escaped the Squire's lips. Such cruel words slipping from a soft child. "Some death."

"People will have to die for me?"

Then a wry smile made its way around the Squire's face. His fingers, with care of a mother, went to set the buttons aside to part the clothes, keeping in mind to have the buttons intact, and not a wrinkle stiffen it.

"Of course. Everyone in the Kingdom will have to die for you if they need to. Your attendants, your friends, vassals, defenders..."

The Prince's hands covered the Squire's, ceasing him from further movement. When he was sure that the Squire would not continue, his right hand shifted from the Squire's in favour of going to his chin, lifting his head to have his eyes upon him.

Curious hazel bore into heavy brown and his smile subsided.

"Will ye have to die for me too, Paulie?"

His gaze leveled, staying on the Prince's. It always caught the Squire in small admiration how the Prince was not shy about expressing himself. Even now, every etch of sorrow were out in the front, hard to miss. He was a book that was wide open with each page in grand detail—every twitch and what it meant, and how the viewer would catch it whether they intended to read or not.

Daring to keep his gaze in contact with John's, his lips curved into a smile—small and gentle, yet resolute.

"Even I have to, and I would. Willingly."

The older boy's eyes widened, his hand slipping from the younger's chin but kept one on his fumbling hands. The Squire just became eleven today, hasn't he? How was he so ready, willing and able to give up his life for the Prince? For someone he had only befriended and is teaching for a couple of years? Wasn't he supposed to be returning to his family when his job was done? Be free as a bird?

"I have nowhere else I could be than by your side, My Liege."

Paul must've seen all his unspoken inquiries through his eyes, answering without hearing a word from him. John wanted to pry closer into that matter—who was Paul to say he couldn't return to his family that were waiting for him? The funds for teaching John must've been going to them while awaited their son to return accomplished.

He couldn't have been doing all this work for nothing in return.

His hands shifted to the boy's shoulders and pulled him up, straightening his slumped body that was attempting to change the Prince's clothes. Changing clothes could come later—they still had that hour to prepare. It would only take ten for the wardrobes. In this moment, he had something more important to do with this time. When he saw the Squire blink at him, smile sifting into a neutral expression, John didn't bother with words.

He pulled the Squire's hands to rest on his shoulders, encircling his own around his hips—strangely a lot narrower than John's. If there was something that intrigued him every day, it was how their lifestyle was the same, yet they differed so much in terms of how they carried themselves. John had broader shoulders and bigger features than Paul who had more of a sinewy figure like his aunt, but not as bony and weak as hers. Paul didn't truly weigh a lot lesser than John but had a graceful figure like a noble—John had rougher edges, more of the Squire to the Prince than what they had in reality.

Paul must've been a Prince in his past life—if they really do exist.

The Squire's smaller hands shifted a bit lower, drawing comfort in clenching the billowed sleeves of the Prince, almost touching his elbows. John's hands rubbed circles around his hips, unsure if he was positioned correctly, but made no question of it knowing his eyes told enough to Paul.

"What do you mean ya have nowhere else to be? Don't ye have family waitin' for ye?"

The Squire's eyes travelled down to the Prince's hands before meeting his. Contemplating an answer, he stepped back and blew into a hum. As he took one back, John took one forward. The Squire hummed a higher tune, going down a notch before letting it rise up. He didn't bother telling John that his attempt on leading the dance was not the best. In fact, he couldn't call it a dance when he was only moving back, and John kept creeping closer.

"Let's say I'm in-debt to your Father, His Majesty."

He gnawed on his lip for keeping it vague, sensing dissatisfaction in the Prince. Meeting his eyes, he saw his searching, exploring, almost hunting his, but finding nothing due to the strong-hold that kept it all in. Before he could step enough to escape the room, the Prince twirled him away from it. The Squire found himself closer and closer to hitting the wall, one glance at the Prince and he found that it was intentional.

"Where is your family?" he enquired straight up, clear and succinct. Those sharp eyes that told Paul that he wanted no beating around the bush, no simple avoidance or ignoring the Prince when he wanted an answer.

He dared dart his gaze away, breath hitching slightly. Rising to the challenge, John inched closer to remind Paul that there couldn't be anything more he should give his attention to.

"I asked ye a question." He added a sneer upon finding Paul stiffen, swallowing a lump in his throat. "Do I gotta kiss ya to answer?"

"It is a rather uncomfortable position to be in.." the poor boy muttered, cheeks flushing slightly when John's chest nearly brushed his. "And I would rather you save these advances for your bride."

"I can make you a bride of mine, can't I?" Paul's passivity didn't stay for long, John observed. The moment he expressed his discomfort, his soft grasp of his sleeves straightened to push him back to keep him from advancing in his approach.

"No, John. No, you can't."

He didn't feel hurt by the Squire's words, knowing that he spoke through knowing the inner workings of the fate of the Royal family, but he couldn't put his finger as to why they couldn't simply be together. If they were going to be spending about five more years together—and then return to the Kingdom side by side, they might as well be...

Maybe the Squire wanted him to explore more before he regretted his impulsive decisions.

It was enough for John to lose his hold on Paul—allowing himself to be pushed back enough to allow the boy to move. Just as that, he continued their sway with a hum.

"I'm guessin' that you don't really want to talk."

The Squire smiled slightly at that, continuing his hum as if he wasn't interrupted before. Resting his hands near John's elbows again, he had them continue their slowed movement, watching John's feet in case he stepped on his. John was still leading; he couldn't take all the control away from that.

Though... he did more work on it. Paul couldn't blame him, it was just his second time in trying this.

John saw Paul's brows furrow, humming a little louder before giving him an odd glance, expecting him to fill in the hums—with what? He wasn't sure. He wasn't a freaking hummingbird like Paul must've been. He tried to whistle along to the muted harmony, but only earnt a sigh from the Squire.

"Add some words to my hums, John."

"Oh" was all he could counter, pursing his lips in embarrassment and ceasing his whistling. "Could you try humming more? I'll get into it."

A longer hum was given.

"What could I say.. what would fit the mood.."

Fumbling and tumbling with words, his caught Paul trying to stifle a giggle. He huffed.

"Okay fine, how 'bout I do the hummin' and you do the words."

Paul shrugged his shoulders, not wanting to laugh again at how John was transforming his soft hums into well.. a John style. More rough and gritty. He must've been straining his throat in an attempt to hum loud and nice.

"In spite of all the danger..~"

John almost stumbled on his hum hearing the words softly escape Paul. He knew the Squire would have a good voice seeing how kindly he spoke, but he didn't expect it to work so well in song. He could pose as those bards on the streets and he would believe it. He would even pay him handsomely if he wanted.

"In spite of all that may be.. I'll do anything for you."

Heat rushed up John's features, colouring his cheeks in the rosy shade that often adorned Paul's chubby cheeks. So, this is what Paul meant by it being an activity that would help mend the embers. Through song, they could say all the words they normally could not, direct it to anyone who listens and takes it to their hearts. And John found himself taking those lyrics as a direct profession from Paul.

It was like breathing through the soul, and the Prince wanted to take in that breath with the Squire.

"Anything you want me to, if you'll be true to me."

Paul smiling at him almost had him stopping, but also kept him going. Never in his life he was able to see anyone who could encompass such a tender love with their eyes alone. Not his Father, not his Mother, and to an extent, not Aunt Mimi. Aunt Mimi's love was different, it held strength, it was triumphant. She gazed at John as one of the biggest accomplishments of the world, not as a test subject, not as a trophy of her work, but a seed that was sewn to the ground and was growing bigger and bigger.

He was growing strong, and she was proud of him. But Paul...

Paul's gaze was like a hug he's wanted for so long. It was soft, almost fleeing. If he let go, then he would fade into the sky before he could reach once more to restore that connection. It filled John's heart with this overflowing passion, a passion to hold him close and never let go. If they both had to die in their embrace, he would allow it with a smile. With Aunt Mimi, he felt ready to take on the world that spat at them. With Paul, he wanted the world to be a playground for the two of them.

Just them two. Nothing else in the wide world mattered when his eyes met hazel. His world.

"Try it, Johnny."

That was enough for John to cease humming and instead step forward into the lyrical stance, with Paul humming.

"In spite of all of the heartache.. that you may cause me,"

As he swayed back, he heard Paul repeat after him, sweet honeyed tone complimenting John's bold raspy vocals. He shifted away from Paul's locked gaze and to his hand, let it run up away from the boy's hip. The boy understood his wordless order and removed one of his hands latching on the sleeve to meet the Prince's.

Was it possible that Paul understood him? Did he know how much he meant to him?

"I'll do anything for you." His eyes darted to Paul's, finding those brown delivering the message better than his voice that could shroud a lie or a thousand. "Anything you want me to, if you'll be true to me."

The Squire's smile.. their linked hands told him enough.

"Happy Birthday, my Paulie." His breath was caught in his throat, almost blocking any access to the air it needed. His smile was just lovely, so sweet, caring, and loving.

"Thanks Johnny."

The Prince's feet came to a halt before the Squire's, and the two simply stood, eye to eye, hand in hand. What was happening between them? Was this just another ruse for his task of courting the Lady awaiting him?

"'ey Paulie," the Squire gave a small tip of his head, gesturing to him to continue. "What is going on with us?"

His smile sifted slightly, but the gleam in his eyes told the Prince that he was pondering upon it.

"We're just showing our appreciation to each other."

The Prince searched those hazel eyes, checking if there was something beyond their understanding of the situation, but found nothing. Appreciating one's presence.. it was simple as that, yet his heart felt overwhelmed, it was so full it was ready to burst out. If it was something as simple as gratitude for their presence, why was it that he believed he was about to get a heartattack?

There had to be something that was outside the scope of the Squire's knowledge, and this was it.

John's lips parted as he was about to ask another question but was interrupted by the sound of Aunt Mimi stepping at the doorstep of his chambers.

"I should've known you weren't getting ready, John." She had a smirk on her fair features. "But it sure is not polite to include little Paul into this."

Her eyes travelled down to their hands with a small smile. He must've been teaching John how to kindly hold a woman—the part he lacked most. She couldn't see anyone who was more perfect than Paul to teach him that.

Although Aunt Mimi, a woman she was, did not possess the grace of one of the Prince's caliber. It was presumed that the one he would be wed to was an elegant woman with dainty features, a voice softer than bell's chimes and a silken touch. Aunt Mimi was a self-made woman, a hardened shell too strong for refinement as that.

Paul by all means was no woman, but he was the closest to what they could expect in one.

"Don't make it sound like he was forced into this!" John almost shrieked in response, cheeks flushing a bright red and stumbling on his comeback. It earned a laugh from both Paul and Aunt Mimi.

"Sure is more convincing than, 'Paulie wanted this'." She scoffed, lifting her head to mock him. It was hilarious to see John turning to Paul for help.

"You tell her! It's not like that."

And Paul's automatic, "it's not like that."

"Yes yes John, I am convinced. I've been persuaded." Her reply was, but the tone informed the boys the opposite. John, in his little flushed state, scowled in defense.

"I'm serious!"

And what had her laughing was the shock that drew over Paul, as he exclaimed, "now he's really serious!"

"I am _always_ serious, Paulie. How many times do I have to pound that in ye thick-head?"

"You couldn't be.." he turned his face to Aunt Mimi with a pout, "can you believe him? He tried to kiss me a couple of times! He couldn't possibly be serious about that."

Aunt Mimi could only try and observe. John had to be doing nothing but messing around. He was that kind of guy, it was all jokes until the fat lady sang, or until the baby boy cried. Was it one of John's games to try and kiss Paul? She knew he was an eager learner, but not to the extent that he would try everything he had to do in due time with his teacher. Perhaps the Squire didn't notice, but he was growing something more than a friendship between them.

If Paul didn't mind being with John, she wouldn't either. He was good to John as he was good to Paul.

She wanted to confirm if he was interested in this setting. If he was disturbed by it, who knew what she had to discuss with John. But before she could ask, Paul gave John a smile before parting their hands and going back to the bed where his outing clothes laid.

"C'mon Johnny boy, get ready. I want to go with Aunt Mimi to the market."

And with that, he went up to Aunt Mimi, hand in hers and leading them out of the Prince's chambers with a little smile. Giving his little hand a squeeze, she followed him to the living room.

****\--** **

The Squire didn't really get to sending the two letters to his friends.

When they were prepared, the three went to the market through a traveller carriage. Mendips Fortress was not close to the bigger sides of Liverpool, so often when Aunt Mimi had to travel, it was through these carriages. She didn't have to pay too much for them, thankfully, they knew her enough to give a little discount.

It was a necessity, after all. They couldn't commit a highway robbery if they wanted to keep their horses from the King's wrath.

Aunt Mimi had the boys sit at the back of the carriage that fit about four people sans the operator. Unlike the farmer's trolleys that were simple wood carts, the carriage had sturdy white clothes that covered the head from onlookers, and from bird dung that shot from the sky ever so often. It also provided as a shade from the sun that shone bright in the sky.

Aunt Mimi's eyes were on the front, watching the road as the horse—a thoroughbred, galloped with the kind guidance of the operator. Eyes glued to the fields he had, making sure they gotten to their destination without a hitch. The kids sat at the back, watching the rear with large, curious eyes.

"Have you ever been on a carriage before?" The Squire asked with a smile, eyes marvelling the distance covered in less than minutes time before it went up to the Prince who shared similar awe.

"Once only." He swallowed a lump in his throat, and the Squire figured that the only time was when he was escorted to Aunt Mimi. For sure, he had never gone to the Market. Not where people were, not where they could recognize him if he was dressed in his usual garbs.

He walked to most of the parks or fields if he wanted to go out. Aunt Mimi did and did not accompany him.

"What about you?"

The Squire blinked owlishly.

"Have you ever been in this?"

The Squire glanced down, hearing the wheels hit a couple of rocks causing a little jump before it steadied on. He was only eight years old when he was brought to Mendips, there could've been a possibility that he did ride a carriage with his parents before. Nothing was coming to his mind when it came to it. He couldn't remember a moment where he did travel with his family anywhere.

Was he forgetting them already?

"Paulie?"

"Oh! No no, haven't ever been."

He couldn't show his sudden disappointment. This was supposed to be a good day, one where they were celebrating him. It had no space for his gloomy thoughts.

John noticed his sullen silence, smile curving to a frown.

"Hey Paul."

And the shock that he couldn't veil when he glanced at John. John wasn't really going to cease with giving the cute Paul nicknames, but in this moment, he felt that it would disturb the mood he's created. It was not a moment for fun and games as it usually was.

"You said my name properly."

Was he really irritated by the nickname? Paul's eyes widened before he casted a glance away.

"You always go with Paulie or Teachy or something. It's something to hear you say 'Paul' like that."

John smiled then.

"I want to keep calling you Paulie, but it would ruin the mood."

"What is that you want to talk about that nicknames would ruin the mood for?"

The Squire's eyes refused to leave him, and the Prince's smile grew. It was what intrigued him whenever they spoke. He would make sure he was concentrated completely upon you, attentive to your needs, only leaving when he sensed discomfort, or when the speaker became bashful, shy, and nervous.

But for John, it was what pulled him over to Paul. It had him gravitating more and more to him. Without a doubt, when everyone leaves him for their own work, Paul would be there to heed his every order.

"Not to be intrusive but... what happened to your family?"

There was that stare again. That one where he wanted to be anywhere but here, so distant from the world, too deep for John to understand. Yet...

In the valves of his heart, the Prince understood exactly what those eyes were telling him. Somewhere deep within him, he knew. It was the same eyes he had when he saw her part ways from him, the tight clutch on his arm by the man he no longer recognized as his Father. That shell that was enclosed upon him when he was sent on a carriage to Mendips Fortress, to Aunt Mimi to remove their burden.

It made sense why Paul was so distant, even now where it was his day.

_I know.. I think I know what happened._ He hoped his eyes spoke enough of what he didn't want to voice out.

Paul smiled, warming the cold shivers that were passing down John's spine.

"I shouldn't keep hiding."

John's eyes widened.

"Wait, no! It's alright, Paulie—"

"I think it's better if I tell you." The Squire did not have a habit to interrupt nor cut people off. It was too much effort to be hiding from others that had an inkling of the truth. He liked society, the people of the world, John, Aunt Mimi, his family. He loved them too much to be putting up walls from them. The Prince's eyes gave him the idea that he knew—it had to do with the fact that his parents left him behind.

Paul was in the same boat, but why he was abandoned was one completely apart.

But when he was finally opening that door he kept closed for so long, the carriage cease movement, and the operator exclaimed, "we're here!"

Aunt Mimi tapped their shoulders, having not heard a word of what they were saying in the back.

"We're off, boys."

John sighed and Paul blinked, giving John another glance before hopping off the carriage. When his feet touched the ground, he extended his hand to the Prince.

"What?"

The Squire giggled.

"So you won't say we didn't help you before."

With a scoff, John hopped off before watching the dust disperse up his feet upon doing that. It's a good thing these were not garments that took ages to wash. Having done the laundry, he started to think twice about getting stains upon his clothes—the white ones mostly.

"Hey Pa—"

He was interrupted again by the Squire.

"Remember, we're Macca and Lenny here." John raised his brow. "We don't want people to be making a fuss. You're dressed differently for a reason."

"A'ight Macca, but I'm going to miss Paulie. Where does Macca come from anyway?"

Oh shoot. He forgot about not telling anyone he was a McCartney. Especially not John. Thinking quickly, the Squire decided to give an answer completely out of whack.

"My love for Mac.... Mac'n cheese. Yeah, cheese."

He only wished it sounded persuasive enough. It was not easy to cover the slip-ups. Times like these, he was grateful John was not too observant, just nit-grit.

"What the heck's Mac'n cheese?"

"Things upper-class people like you don't eat." He giggled again before he skipped over to Aunt Mimi. John huffed before going to Aunt Mimi's other side like children with their Mother.

Aunt Mimi, noticing the two silly boys coming on each of her side rolled her eyes with a smile. Sometimes, they really were cute like her sons. If she had children of her own, would they have been good to these boys? Sweet, mischievous yet caring little kids.. she couldn't imagine how hers would've been. Would they have been girls? Boys?

The girl would love Paul to be her older sister. The boy had such soft features, it'd been a hard time for Aunt Mimi to tell her that he really was a male. The boy would be stuck to John due to his charismatic ways—the ever-loving rebel that he tries to be. They'd be giving Aunt Mimi early greys in her jet black hair.

She turned her gaze to Paul. She was expecting the excitement of a child, the eagerness of someone who finally got to experience a new world in front of him, but Paul... She kept forgetting that Paul wasn't that kind. When it came to unfamiliarity, he froze up. His soft face would be laced with caution, breaths slightly heavier than when he was relaxed, and darting his gaze any angle in case something jumped at them.

"Little Paul," she whispered, bending down slightly. She saw the boy jump at that and raised a brow before smiling. "Anything you want from here, you let me know."

Appearing interrupted from his thought process, he merely gave a silent nod, eyes wide and lips parted slightly.

"Meems, we're Lenny and Macca here." John tugged at her dress to dart her attention back to him. "Keep our names away from public recognition."

She raised an impressed brow at him.

"I presume he came up with it. It's too clever for you."

"I could've!" he nearly shouted back.

The Squire blinked before running his eyes around the huge Square of Liverpool. Nothing among this place struck as something he's seen before, outside maps. None of it traced back home—before Mendips Fortress became one. It rustled with people of different classes, joyous conversation, banter about bargains, splays of colour all over him. Under his feet were red bricks forming a circular pattern, extending so far and away from his line of vision. If he did travel beyond the Square, there with the multiple pointed pillars and impressive arches was the Kingdom led by the Lennon family.

The man who gave him another chance at life.

As if greeting an official, his eyes lowered to his feet, rising when his gaze was too low to notice where he was going. Aunt Mimi brought him here not for sight-seeing, but for him to create memories. To find something to include these people into his life as not merely subjects he would need the Prince to keep an eye out for, but friendly companions he may need.

When he finally lifted his gaze away from the shy trance he was sinking into, he saw fruits, clusters of fresh fruits whose scents and lovely hues caught his gaze. Large apples of red, green and pale gold, oranges, green pears, purple grapes, pink strawberries and ripe bananas taking most space. Having eaten before, it wasn't out of hunger, but relief that the people had enough to eat. They were not impossible to afford..

Beside the fruit were vegetables by a different vendor. The stocky middle-aged woman met his gaze the moment he glanced up and he saw a smile appearing on her face, brightening her cheeks like the apples next by.

"Mimi!" she called after, her eyes up in the Aunt's direction. Aunt Mimi turned her face upon hearing the woman's call. "We've got a load of corn this harvest, why don't you treat your cute little lad and lass some?"

Paul saw how Aunt Mimi almost smiled, but a question came before it.

"Lass?"

"Yes! This sweet little lass who you have next to you. Looks like a starving cherub. I oughta feed her lots."

Paul blinked owlishly. Was she referring to him as the 'lass?'

"You never told us you had kids back in your home, Mimi!" The fruit lender then exclaimed, joining in before Aunt Mimi could correct them. "Show us your adorable munchkins."

John pulled his hat to cast a shadow upon his eyes, and Paul contemplated on removing his cloak.

"Do you want some corn, my young one?" He resorted to a shy shake of his head when Aunt Mimi turned to him.

"They're shy little kids, my friends," she half-lied. "And thank you for the offer, I'll consider buying a couple another time."

Paul turned his focus onto the other stands. Some were selling combs of different materials, some with floral designs that reminded him of the floral gardens he and John walked often to, some were of animals that didn't visit Liverpool as often. They also acted as hair-pins for the girls who tied their hair and wanted decorative pieces. The other had trinkets of jewels laid out for them to try out—various copper, silvers, gold lacking. If Paul was an appraiser, he would know the stones dangling around the chains and threads were close to man-made, none true.

Beautiful they were, nonetheless. He was no critic to such.

Beside it were decorative covers for their lights and candle-lanterns. They were in the process of harnessing the expensive electricity and incandescent lamps, so their merchandise surrounded those. Mendips Fortress hadn't used such lamps, so there wasn't a need to focus upon that. There were outlets in the works, but not used as often.

Before he could explore more, his eyes gleamed in recognition at the sight of a child who took a generous bite of a stalk of corn.

"Hazza!"

The said boy's eyes widened at the Squire's call, immediately smiling with a wave.

"A friend of yours?" Aunt Mimi asked with amusement, John lowering his eyes with a pout. Paul blinked once before nodding.

"He's one of the few I was writing these letters for." He answered back a little meek, a bit afraid of the vendors who assumed he was not a male hearing it and changing their mind about him being a 'cute lass'.

"That's lovely, why not invite him after our trip?"

"Macca, you went on and made friends without me...? Why, I feel nothing but betrayed!" John contorted in mock offense, but Paul wasn't sure if it really was a joke. He could very well be disappointed in him.

"Sorry Lenny, but I've told you about them, and..." and every time he had invited John to meet them with him, he refused.

"Hey Macca! That yer old lady?" he asked after he swallowed, catching up to him in seconds.

"Not technically, but.." one glance at Aunt Mimi and he remembered what he told Hazza and Richie those times they met in Strawberry Fields. When John was somehow not around when they were. "She's our Aunt."

And golly, he missed that warm smile she gave upon hearing 'our Aunt'.

"She's a nice one, if she raised a good little Macca like ye." Hazza bowed slightly in greeting to her, smile not leaving his face. "Is that Lenny?"

"Nice to finally meet ya, Hazza." John deadpanned. "Hazza been occurred to you that Macca's been keepin' ya away from me for years?"

"Not true, you kept making excuses."

"Excuses are your job, Macca."

"No they aren't!" Huffing, he went back to Hazza. "Where's Richie?"

"Over at the whacko with the strings." He pointed with his thumb. "By the way, nice to meet'cha too, Lenny."

John rolled his eyes, and Hazza concluded that he really wasn't sure where their connection came from. John and Paul were quite the siblings.

"The person with the strings...?"

"Yeah, let me take ye both there. At least, if Lens doesn't mind." He added the last bit with a sneer that had John scowl once more. Gosh, how was Paul friends with this dumbo? He was already getting annoyed at the lacey air he had.

"I don't mind, maybe I could use those strings for yer neck."

Hazza rose to the challenge.

"Try with no strings attached."

"Oh, I'll get one to tie you good with."

"Frightening. But I'd rather not be wired by ya."

"Yeah, don't want to be stuck in all those knots."

"Don't tie my neck though, I value my cords."

Paul kept darting his gaze left and right, to John, then to Hazza, then back to John then to Hazza. Somehow, everyone he happens to meet had quipped tongues.

"Oh, ye don't need those pipes, son. These threads will do ya better."

"I don't, do I? Guess I'd have to use those little guys to lash out on ya."

The two were glaring murderously to one another, sneers tight and twitching in annoyance. The Squire began to have an honest belief that they were really going to do string each other up for real.

"Maybe we should catch up to Richie later." So they won't end up killing one another in their first informal meeting. Paul's hand was in Aunt Mimi's, feeling her rub her thumb along his upper palm. Throughout their little walk in the Square, her hand hadn't left his in fear of losing him to the crowd who had their eyes set on him.

She didn't blame them for taking a fancy to Paul. With his clear and innocent features, any person would be caught gawking that such a being came from Aunt Mimi's household.

"C'mon Macca, don't be chicken, ye might find somethin' ye'd like." Hazza waved a couple of fingers to beckon him to leave the comforts of Aunt Mimi. One glance and a kind nod from her, they released their hands to let the boy follow Hazza. As they went, Aunt Mimi kept her eyes at their backs.

_Wasn't that...?_

That lad who took the Squire away to the stringed stand, there was something about him that clicked to her in the wrong way. Hazza was not his name, that's for sure.

"Go with them, Jo—Lenny." She gestured with a tip of her head and the Prince scoffed.

"Yeah, before they take Macca from me again."

She almost laughed. Was John jealous?

"Mimi, why don't you get yer little lass a comb nice as this?" the vendor suggested, and she resisted rolling her eyes. He had to pick the one with the cherry-blossoms. She was about to admonish them for their incorrect use of gender terms but decided against it. If they figured out he was not a bird but a lad, they would turn around their compliments and make his day worse.

She couldn't do that on his birthday.

"And this little dagger for yer growing lad?"

John didn't really know how to use a blade... and she was doubtful that Paul would be teaching him that—having be outside his scope of teaching. How could a mere child be a swords-master to begin with? She began to hope he wasn't.

It would add up to her need to spoil the boy. If he really had such a studious life, he was probably not provided the gentle care he needed to grow.

"I'll consider it." She only replied, not wanting to dishearten the merchant.

Since they were in the marketplace, she considered purchasing some groceries. There was nothing wrong with stocking up a little bit. She had growing children in her Fortress, two who could use a little bit of spoiling this month given their hard work within this year.

"Do you have those flaked corn from before?" she asked the vegetable lender who brightened up.

"Oh yes! Those babies go out like hot-cakes."

Those were John's favourite. The kid gobbled those down like a starved man when Aunt Mimi brought them home.

As she was picking up the other vegetables, she cast a glance at the three boys who were now meeting with a littler child. Unable to hear them from such distance, she only saw Hazza and John jesting to one another with their long sneers and pointed fingers, and Paul speaking to the smallest boy with a little smile, plucking some of the strings off the table objects.

Come to look at it, was it an instrument stand that they were glued to? There were lyres and lutes hanged up by nails, while some tables with strings upon them. What those were, she wasn't sure. She never was the expert in the musical tongue. It seemed to be the interest of the hobbyist bards. Those people must have music in their souls that they cheerfully, or ruefully sing out.

Maybe John and Paul were meant to be bards in their lives. How easy and free they would be if it was.

"Y'ight Mary?"

She whipped her gaze to the lender.

"Yeah sorry, Emma. Just never taken my kids out here, I'm a little afraid of losing them."

The stocky woman, Emma, smiled, patting her friend on the back. The pats were friendly slaps on Aunt Mimi's back, she almost bent over by the impact.

"Oh, don't ye worry your pretty little head. That mean faced lad is capable, I can see that."

"He's who I'm worried about. He's rather impulsive." Saying 'thanks' she held the brown paper bag in one of her arms. "Barks up the wrong tree."

"He's going to be a great warrior when he gets older."

"Yes, but he'll need to learn when to choose his battles.." Aunt Mimi's shoulders slumped at the thought of John fighting anything that was in sight. He had a good conscience, definitely a good person at heart, but he really did Paul for keeping his reins back before he injured someone, mostly himself.

"You'll have him know that." Emma began to laugh, noticing Aunt Mimi's sulk. "You and your cute little lass."

"We'll have to try.."

"Have faith Mimi!" the other vendor shouted. "Have faith in your kids!"

"I do, it's just..." _One of them is the Crown Prince and will certainly have a hard time adjusting to that, and the other is his martyr._

"No buts, Mimi!"

Their scolds had Aunt Mimi breaking into a little giggle. In a cosmic sort of way, they were right. She had to believe that John and Paul would be alright, otherwise she would be the same as the ones who will put them in the ground, bury them six feet deep and spit upon it.

"Yeah.. you're right," she smiled, taking out a couple of silver coins and handing it to Emma and the other lender. "I should believe in them more. It's the least I could do."

Just then, she heard Paul calling her.

"Aunt Mimi! Aunt Mimi, could you please come over here?"

She took a glance at the women with her, wondering if they caught onto the fact that the 'cute little lass' was a cute little lad in truth. The two were still counting the coins Aunt Mimi handed to them, telling her that they didn't notice a thing. _Good._

"Coming!"

Might as well, instead of making room for petty gossip. She ran as soon as the women gave the "okay" sign, raising their hands and curling their two fingers.

"What is it, little P—Macca?"

It was still odd to be calling him that after knowing him as "Paul" for so long. Macca sounded like another person but with the same face as the little Paul. The boy was pressing a pedal on the floor, next to something that resembled a piano that was put in the backburner. It wasn't completely destroyed, but it was missing a couple of keys and it caught dust all around its otherwise brown wood. It didn't have any indication on the price..

"I think I know what I want."

"To string this bastard?" John popped in behind the boy, rope in his hands and Aunt Mimi saw it dangled around the Hazza boy. The other child with them—the one she didn't know the name of, was slapping the threads off.

"No, but this piano." The child straightened himself up, slipping a hand into a pocket in his pants to procure a cloth. Upon finding it, he ran the cloth around the dusty piano and in quick motion, brushed the dust family off of it. "It's a little out of tune, and missing keys, but I think this is what I want."

Aunt Mimi raised a brow at that.

"Why not a new one?"

"They're expensive.."

She knew that was a lie. She knew Paul felt that the piano was something left behind, just as he was, and he was going to give it a warm home as John and Aunt Mimi have given him.

"It's missing keys and it's worn out..."

"We could get replacements and rebuild the wooden parts with the logs over there.."

Suppose once his mind was made up, there was no stopping him.

"Macca, why don't you get this table-guitar instead? We could skin Hazza alive with it."

"Or ye could be a good player and do mad shreds, how about that?" Hazza countered with a roll of his eyes.

"Shred this wanker into pieces."

"You be careful, you'd become knotted in between."

The Squire lifted his head from the lower level of the abandoned piano. "How long are you going to make string jokes?"

"Till we're at the end of the rope!" Both exclaimed back, glancing at each other with a newfound respect before extending their hands to one another.

"Y'know Lenny, I think we can lay off the contortion, wouldn't ya say?"

"We're both on the same thread of thought, my friend."

The Squire just blinked, watching the Prince and his friend casually shake hands with a firm nod. Aunt Mimi rolled her eyes for the umpteenth time.

"I'll ask you again, young Macca, you want this piano?" she very carefully avoided the use of 'that hunk of junk'. The Squire nodded eagerly, beaming cutely. "We're going to need help in having that lifted."

John saw Aunt Mimi hesitate, hand on her lips upon seeing Paul so bright and happy. What was up with that piece of useless wood and plastic that has him all over it like a Holy Grail? A new one, he would understand completely, but this was used and thrown aside.

"Hey Richie, ask the lad if he has a cart or somethin'." He requested upon seeing the short man talking with him when it came to a bongo that was as small as Richie was. "And careful with the drum, your hooter could burst a hole in it."

"Richie's nose is soft, at least." Hazza rolled his eyes, poking the boy's nose.

"I'll be careful, Lenny." Richie dismissively answered, and Paul snickered at the stares the poor boy with the drum was getting by John and Aunt Mimi. They were both on the same boat when it came to Richie—they assumed he was the youngest and would have a lighter voice to accompany his baby blue eyes and shortness.

Oh no, no no no. That lad had a rich and lovely voice, he made John, Paul and Hazza's childish.

Then John ran a hand along his nose. "Man, I better be gettin' a honker like his if it'll give me such a great voice."

Hazza and Paul snickered.

"John, if you had such a voice, I'd be afraid." Aunt Mimi didn't want to imagine such a change. Instead of focusing on that, she went to the lad who managed the business. "Sir, do you have something that we could carry this old piano with?"

The lad's eyes were wide when she asked, in complete wonder of who would want to do with something that he intended to throw away soon.

"Ma'am, there are better pianos to attain.."

"My kids want that one, so we'll have to let them have it." Even she was in disagreement with taking in that old clunker, but if it made Paul so happy, why would she take that away from him?

"I insist you look at the back with me. Your kids will simply love the new ones we have."

Aunt Mimi smiled wryly. "They're quite set on this one."

The lad shrugged but checked the back of his stall if he had anything to help the poor Aunt and her silly children's needs. He did find some of the keys that had fallen off of the piano, as for the cart... he decided that it was fine to loan one to them.

"I am still in use of this baby, so if you could give it to me in two days, that would be gear." He handed the keys to Aunt Mimi who stared in confusion, blinking unsurely. "Those are the keys that fell off that poor thing."

"Oh, thank you. And one day would be good enough. I could bring it tomorrow." The lad smiled, heading back to drag the little cart over to Aunt Mimi. It wasn't anything extravagant, just a little cart that had six wheels, longer than a farmer's wheelbarrow, but enough to carry the piano back to Mendips and return.

"Let me get some ropes to string that boy up and we could have it fit in the cart in no-time, Ma'am."

Just then, Aunt Mimi saw John give Hazza a look, then the two shared that with Paul who had yet to catch on their drift.

"Hey Paulie, he's going to string 'em up."

"Yeah Macca, tie it up like a prisoner and hang it high."

And all the Squire could really say was, "what?"

They tried to rope him in their jests, and as always, it didn't work.

"What they mean is, the lad in the stall will have the piano lifted through the ropes he has, and we'll take it home with the carriage." Aunt Mimi clarified with a clear of her throat, giving the two an incredulous stare before softening to the Squire. "Are you sure this is good enough for your birthday?"

"So that's what this is all about.." Richie tapped the bongo as if he was making a dramatic drum roll. "Another birthday we're meeting on, eh?"

The Squire hesitated, before nodding with a smile.

"Yeah, first was Lenny's, and now mine."

Hazza pursed his lips.

"Were we going to be invited? I love me some cake..."

"Yeah, I was going to send these letters to you both, but then we met here.."

Then John jumped in.

"And frankly, we don't want someone like ye there."

"I thought we tied the knot to connect the strings."

"We did, but I pulled it when it comes to invading our home."

"Rude..." Hazza rolled his eyes, before glancing at Paul. "Can we come?"

"Of course, don't mind Lenny here. He's just shy."

"I ain't shy! I'm cut-throat."

"We hadn't had guests in a long time.. Aunt Mimi, is that alright with you?" his big doe eyes went to Aunt Mimi who was waiting for the lad, groceries in her hands. Upon being addressed, she gazed down with a warm smile.

"Till your little heart's content."

John gaped comically.

"Meems! That's special treatment. How come I never got that?"

"Because you never asked politely."

"I am _always_ polite, aren't I, Macca?"

"Don't lump 'em in this one."

"If I may, Missus," Hazza sneered at John. "He really is not the nicest lad, he threatened to strangle me 'couple of times."

Aunt Mimi simply pointed at Hazza, and John shook his head.

"Hazza's been tryin' to kill Macca!"

"Oh, really?"

"Yes!"

It turned out, Aunt Mimi, Hazza and John got preoccupied in their quip competition that Paul and Richie ended up assisting the lad with the ropes, twirling it around the piano before lifting it with him, pulling the ropes with as much strength they could muster. It landed perfectly into the cart, and with a smile, the lad kept the ropes on so they could set it up at their home.

"All set, you cute little kiddos." He ran a kind hand through Paul and Richie's hair, ruffling their fluffy heads. "And happy birthday!"

"Thank you, Sir."

"Missus, they're done with setting the piano into the wagon." Richie advised her, noticing the three were throwing insults and silly jests that they didn't truly mean. Aunt Mimi darted her gaze at him, blinking.

"Oh, thank you Richie. With this, we should be heading back."

Then John's mind knocked a couple of times.

"Wait!" they all glanced at him. "I didn't get Macca anything."

"Damn, can't expect anything from you, eh?" Paul finally joked, earning a wide-eyed stare from John and a rapid shake of his head.

"Just wait here!"

They watched the silly Prince ran off to one of the stalls in the large Square. A frown came to Paul's face, finding that John had already given him his birthday present, he didn't need to go off and get another one.

How was he going to repay his favour?

"A'ight, got it! Meems, let's go back. It's going to be a long one."

They tried to take a peek at what John, but he successfully hid it in his clothes, away from their line of vision.

"We're going to need a bigger carriage.."

****\--** **

When they headed back to Mendips Fortress, the boys were in the living room, setting up the piano at the vacant corner as Aunt Mimi set the groceries in the kitchen. Richie had the bongo drum in his hand, while the other three had the ropes removed and tossed back into the wagon.

"There we go.. now a little more clean-up and she would be beautiful." The Squire gazed upon it like a baby to be proud of. John and Hazza shared a shrug. "And Richie, would you play your bongos when we start playing this piano?"

"Sure, would love to try and give it a good beat."

Paul smiled at him before heading to the bathroom.

"You really bought the bongos, Rich?" John asked after Paul was out of earshot.

"Oh sod off, Lenny. It's a good drum."

"Yeah, and we have a couple of good drums in our ears, y'know."

Hazza glanced at John incredulously.

"Cor, do ya ever run out of these puns?"

"Nope, 'cause I run by the beat of my own drums, can't keep up, eh?"

"Oh, you're on. Yer beat's not all that tough. How about I throw some cymbals into it?"

"Beat my heart with those, Hazza. Ye won't catch up with those."

“By the time I’m done, ye’d have to visit a doc’ to see if yer ears are still good to go.”

“Gosh, ye must be so terrible for me poor ears to burst.”

“Or yer drums are too weak for my powerful beats.”

“How about I beat your—” he swore, “like a drum?”

The three then burst in laughter at the imagery of such a dirty quip, by the time Paul came back, they were sprawled on the floor, howling like maniacs. Not wanting to announce his return with words, he pulled the little bench from under the piano’s keyboard and began to clean his piano, tapping on the keys to check if they worked well.

For an old instrument it was, it played perfectly.

Smiling at the three still laughing as if there was nothing else they could do in the world, he pressed more keys, trying to remember the song he played with his mother. It was a lot harder than it was, having an old piano whose keyboard was missing couple of teeth, but it started to come down nicely. When the instrument had the dust removed from it, it was a beauty to behold.

When the music began to fill in the room, the laughter subsided in favour of adding to the harmony. John stood up with a puffed chest and his voice reached to the lowest possible octave he could muster, trying to imitate Richie’s bass, Hazza heard Paul stepping up to complement it with a higher pitch, so he went for a tone in between. Ringo was snapping his fingers at first, then remembered the little drum he purchased not too long ago.

Aunt Mimi came in with four glasses of orange juice watching over the four boys who were now focused on the music, John yodelling like a madman, Richie adding to the piano’s melodies with the bongo, and Hazza harmonizing a little bit with Paul.

“Guess they’d be singing nursery rhymes from now on.”

With a wagging finger, Paul brought John to sit by him on the bench, having him press some of the keys with him as they fooled around, singing nonsensical lyrics and trying not to laugh at the sheer absurdity of it. Just earlier, they had a synthesis of their heart and mind into their song, but for now, it was fine if it was the soul doing a solo.

It was supposed to be entertaining as it was cathartic.

He was just glad that John was in agreement to this. If music didn’t work, he wasn’t sure how to keep him interested.

As for John, he found this to be the present he’s always wanted, and it wasn’t even his birthday! Damned Paul and his way with making John feel so fulfilled. With the Squire, he found another way to keep the world away from his shoulders.

He hoped he could do the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading~


	10. A Series of Events

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couple of things before we continue.  
> \- Sorry for the delay.. it's sometimes hard to do creative works such as doodling and writing when feeling under the weather.  
> \- Can I say that it is rather funny that it is now (revolution) 9 chapters with the crew being children? My prototype had their childhood only in two chapters. The whole story was only supposed to be about 12 chapters, and now it's doubled. It's amazing.
> 
> Also John's smile is just lovely. I just love watching 1964 interviews because boy, John is a treat.
> 
> \- Last note, these chapters are the transitions to the future chapters in the Castle, so they might have jumps in the years.

**\--**

November 10th

The Prince and the Squire had their two friends Hazza and Richie invited to Mendips Fortress as part of something they have been growing accustomed to doing for the past months. The two friends couldn't make it every time they were called over, but when they did, it was an eventful day with the four boys playing music and little games that kept each other from getting bored.

For tonight, they were to arrive in an hour.

While they were friends for a couple of years now, the Squire did not have much of an idea of who the two really were, what class they were and what their family status was. It was fair not to know, given he didn't bother to give a single detail about his own—other than Aunt Mimi and John which was just a fabricated lie to keep things from going down the complicated lane he didn't want to cross.

Their lack of concern, or rather, of curiosity was something the Squire was very much grateful for. He wasn't sure if he held enough willpower to pick at old scabs, reopen wounds that had only stopped bleeding these months.

The Squire was currently in the restroom, dragging a comb across his hair. That little beige comb of metal bristles, held together by a silver swan had become one of the few accessories he's been using more often, tucking it in his shirt pocket. His hair was not long enough to be using it as a pin, but he didn't mind, it was easier to hold in his clothes.

It has never left his sight ever since he received it as a gift from the Prince on his birthday. From Aunt Mimi was the beautiful piano he had a hard time staying away from, and from Hazza and Richie was a great time.

Running the bristles through the strands of his hair, his eyes stayed on the swan reflected on the mirror, the beautiful bird whose wings were long enough to support the protruding prongs of the comb. He contemplated keeping it in his hair when he needed it off his brow, but then he would be accentuating his "lass-like traits".

Never in his life until that particular moment was he ever called anything related to a woman. Was it the full cheeks that softened his face on every angle—those cheeks the Aunt called "like a cherub"? Nay, could it been those eyes of his that were curiously wide, big and round with long eyelashes protecting it from revealing all to the world? His lips that he gnawed out of habit?

It was surely not his body, for he didn't have any curves that would provide as an example. He was a little narrow in some areas, but he was tall and didn't have breasts that curved around him, he didn't have too much of a dainty, frail figure, did he?

Stopping the comb on his head and fixing it near the back, he gazed down. Perhaps it was the way he carried himself that differed from the Prince, Hazza and Richie—three males who were around his age with lives of their own. By far, Hazza was the thinnest person he's ever seen, and he was easily called a male.. Richie was the shortest, almost small like an adorable church-mouse, but no one waved their fingers calling him "lass". The Prince..

The Prince had the voice that could put grandmothers to shame when he wanted to tease, he had the batting eyes and gestures expected of a "ponce", but he was immediately recognized as a fellow lad. The Squire really didn't mind if they saw him less of a lad than the others, but he wondered why.

It didn't help that the Prince often called him "Princess", and terms that were associated with females.

But at the thought of John, his mind drifted. He exited the restroom, forgetting the comb still in his hair, pulling his fronts to the back and swan noticeably resting on his fluffy head.

"Aunt Mimi," he softly called the woman who was taking care of them for so long now. At this current moment, she was in her chambers, needle in her hand and a cloth on her lap supported by a wooden wheel, keeping the cloth from wrinkling upon her and making the stitching difficult. She glanced up at the boy with a smile of acknowledgement, motioning him to come inside.

"What is it, little Paul?" she resumed running the threaded needle into the cloth, and Paul observed the green thread making its mark on the cloth, supporting the flowers that she had created with fuchsia and crimson threads. "You don't enter my room often, is there something bothering you?"

If the Squire were to recall the last time he stepped into her chambers, he wouldn't be able to.

This time he entered as the door was open. It wasn't as though he was intruding while she had refused the company of others, it was an invitation to be around. She was ready to anyone to come right in and talk to her. Maybe John with his complaints about how barmy everything was, or...

A little smile made its way to his soft face. "The door was open.."

"Perhaps, I was waiting for a moment you welcome yourself in."

"Were you waiting for that?" Inching from the doorway, he came closer to the woman seated upon a cushion on the floor. As he expected, her chambers was modest, with only necessities decorating it, similar to his own and differing from her nephew. She really was trying to give him as much of what he was to have if he was in the Castle.

Her bed was to the corner, a little wider than a single bed but not a double as the Prince's was. The windows hung beside it, with the light shining down onto its middle. A couple of cupboards stood, one for her clothes he presumed, and the other had a selection of appliances and trinkets that would stay within these four walls. Small figurines of goats and children, books that were stacked to the side, some glass bottles and jars that held different utensils.

His eyes shifted back to the Aunt who closed her eyes with a huff. He knelt down to be able to watch her penmanship with the needle one often underestimated for its size. How tame a potential weapon was in her hand.

She would've been amazing if she was a Knight.

"Need I answer that?"

It was as simple and obvious as the air that roamed around them endlessly, and yet, he nodded.

"In case I am overstepping my boundaries."

She glanced at him.

"How long have you been living here with us?"

He ran a hand around his chin, his first finger slipping into his mouth but stopped with teeth clamping down upon it.

"About four years now.."

"And you still believe such foolish things as 'overstepping your boundaries'?"

She was right. There was no reason for him to behave as though he still needed the approval of the Aunt and the Prince for everything. He didn't have to fear about that anymore as it was no longer a circle made by the hands of two people, but it was a triangle—with him as the third pair of hands.

There was nothing he wasn't allowed to do.

"I'm sorry." He smiled wryly at the realization of how foolish it sounded. He was once again building a wall around them called "respect", distancing himself from the two who welcomed him into their lives, not put on the ground below or a pedestal higher, but on a cushion of the same level. He was not their slave; he was not their elder. Not a royal nor a street rat. Not a foreigner, not a blood relative.

But he was family, he was the Prince's brother, the Aunt's nephew. He was theirs, and they were his.

When she didn't respond, he continued.

"You both are very important to me, Aunt Mimi. I really like being around you both," but what was it that was keeping him from staying on the ground of 'same' with them? His Mother's hand led him to Aunt Mimi's, his father's hand on the small of his back, directing him to John while reminding him that they will take him back if they had done him wrong.

"I just... don't want to break what I have, you know."

His eyes that were downcast on the cotton white cloth on Aunt Mimi's lap shifted up to meet her ever hard gaze. If he was a fool, he would've thought those eyes had no sense of compassion in them, they didn't care, she was cruel. But if he was Paul, he would immediately be able to gaze deep into those veils of strength, able to see nothing but kindness in those dark as black eyes. He could feel warmth in her bony hands that can lift weights hundred times heavy.

She meant every word of comfort, and Paul was able to hear it through her gaze alone.

"Why do you fear that?"

Her eyes searched his as he explored hers. Paul almost stiffened at how much power she had over him. Every inquiry she had in their conversations struck a chord deep inside of him, having him reconsider his thoughts a third time for every belief he thought twice over. Her words that were asking him of his doubts nestled so far inside after the truth laid in front of him.

How she disarmed him so often.

"You have heard of it Aunt Mimi.. it takes a thousand good things to create a positive relationship, but one bad word to make it all crumble."

She laid the needle onto the cloth, shifting her upper body to give him her full attention.

"Tell me, do you really think you are capable of doing that?" lowering her eyelids, she continued. "How thin is that rope you are standing on?"

"Time could never tell; I might be the one snapping it one day." He closed his eyes to draw to himself, sucking on his lower lip for a second.

"Show me your hands, little Paul."

It was when she requested such, he realized his fists were balled, pressing, digging into his palm. Blinking in surprise, he resisted the urge to bite his lip and shake his head. Uncurling his fingers, he laid his little palms up to her line of vision, nearly touching her lap, brushing the cotton cloth but not laying entirely upon it.

She took his soft, tubbier hands in hers, staring down for a moment before smiling.

"I don't see where such care filled hands could ever try something as barbaric as destruction."

He swallowed a lump in his throat.

"These hands have carried weapons, brandished blades and swung."

"Have they ever killed? Maimed? Hurt anyone?" her words were immediate, gazing up into his hazel eyes once more.

"They might have to. When I'm back... with John in the Castle."

Returning to that place filled the Squire with fear, a dread that couldn't be brushed off.

"Or they might kill me before that."

"Then it wouldn't be you who severed the bonds but John's—His Majesty, would it?"

Aunt Mimi barely knew the King and she already wanted to kill him. Scaring the Squire to this extent, and making his own son forget his existence due to his inability to own up to his own mistake? She hadn't heard him speak nor seen his face, and already she spat upon it.

That was no King, that was just an idiot.

Paul's eyes showed the shivering child so well-hidden. Aunt Mimi was waiting for the moment he would explain who had done that to him—who had rendered him into such a helpless, vulnerable and exposed state? His family? No. It couldn't possibly be his family, he had so much love bleeding out of him that it couldn't possibly be the loving parental figures who have implanted such fear into his small—still quite small body.

"Are you afraid of death, young Paul?"

It didn't take longer than a second for him to shake his head. "I'm not afraid of death, Aunt Mimi.. I'm afraid of hurting you and John."

"You really think it's possible?"

The wry smile came back. "As I've said earlier, time could never tell."

She gave those hands of his a gentle squeeze. "Not with these hands, not with this loving heart, not with this control on yourself. I don't think it's possible."

"It's possible. Medea could come tap into my strength and drain it dry."

"Ah, but Medea is not an existing entity, isn't she?"

"Yes, but we do have her inside, leeching at our hearts."

He wasn't sure where he had gotten to this point, telling Aunt Mimi that happiness was as short lived as a smile. He was meaning to ask her about a little joke that John once made, but it had drifted into something else.

There he went, making everything about himself again.

"But more importantly.. Aunt Mimi, there was something else I want to ask."

He wanted it to shift as far away from him as possible. There was no time to be dwelling onto things that will never change, wishing that it could've been altered, trying to take it apart and create something new from it.

"What is it?"

It was then he noticed the comb still in his hair, slipping away from his black tresses after a while of trying to hold on. His hair came back to his face, and with the agility of a frightened man, he wriggled one of his hands out of Aunt Mimi's caring grasp to catch the beautiful comb before it hit the ground.

"Hold your thought, Paul. Let me tell you this," she allowed his other hand to roam free. "The way you caught that comb shows enough of how much you won't shrug off what is given to you."

When the Squire caught hold of the comb, he pressed it flush to his chest.

"See how closely you're holding onto it. Tell me how such a sweet, thoughtful young boy could ever hurt me or John."

Paul simply blinked.

"I will tell you, my dear boy." She inched closer with a rueful smile, her hand touching near his heart. "I believe it would not be you hurting us, but me or John hurting _you._ "

And she didn't miss how immediate his disagreement was.

"No.. you or John couldn't possibly..."

"And that's the same for us. You couldn't possibly hurt us, Paul."

How she won every battle with a snap of her finger, she caught the Squire gaping another time.

When she removed her hand, she gave a small nod.

"You had something to ask me?"

He took a moment to reorient himself. All of it hastily came to him before he could properly process it. Aunt Mimi was right, he couldn't argue with it, but to let those words encroach into the walls of his heart, he didn't know whether it was a good idea or not. What if he grows careless due to it? A little too cocky and self-assured for his own good?

He didn't want to make a mistake.

To her question, he gave a slow nod.

"Go right ahead."

Filling his body with air, he clutched tightly onto the comb in his hand. Closing his eyes, he gnawed on his lip to stop the nerves from jumping out of him and onto Aunt Mimi.

"Aunt Mimi, is John becoming blind?"

It was there where the calm, composed and reassuring Aunt Mimi became nervous, riddled with shock and surprise.

"What?"

And Paul took it upon himself to keep it light.

"John.. once joked to me that he's losing his sense of sight." Though with the way he had Paul informed, it sounded more than just an innocent little joke.

_"I'm already getting blind, son."_

_"What?!"_

_"Don't be shocked, my Mum's got bad eyes and she passed it along."_

_"You're not even thirteen yet."_

_"But I feel like fifty already."_

"He couldn't be..." Her gaze was to the side as she tried to recall any moment where it appeared that John couldn't see.

"He didn't tell you about it.. that's kind of why I was thinking he was joking after all."

"That is not a matter to joke about." Her tone was curt, but not directed to blame Paul. "If he's been losing his sight, we'd have to take him to a doctor to see what they could do."

"What would they do to him...? Send him to a shaman?"

Aunt Mimi glanced back at him with a snicker.

"That's relieving that even you can say something silly, little Paul." His cheeks were a rosy pink now. "They'll see if he would need glasses."

"I doubt that they would be open-minded enough to allow a Prince to wear glasses..."

Staring at him incredulously, they both shared a laugh.

"Well, they might as well send him to a shaman!"

The Squire wasn't sure how their Aunt had made what could've been a hard truth to swallow something as funny as a child getting their tooth out by a specialist.

"Let me know when you are certain of it. I'll have it checked."

The Squire nodded, finding his stiff body finally coming to a relaxed state, no longer all fidgety and cardboard-like. When air filled his lungs in a rhythmatic manner, he tucked the comb into his shirt pocket, where it belonged.

Close to his heart.

Aunt Mimi's eyes caught onto it, smiling.

"It's a lovely comb John gave you. He was so embarrassed to show it to us."

Paul let out a giggle. "It is, and I remember. He was going all, 'it's for Paulie, why do I have to show it to you gits?'"

They both laughed again.

\--

Hazza and Richie came over to Mendips Fortress the minute of the next hour. By the time of their arrival, the Squire had gone to the living room and seated himself on the bench of the wooden piano. Aunt Mimi was at the market, working. The Prince sat at the fireplace, hiding his shivers by huddling to himself, rubbing his arms with his hands and mumbling curses to whoever created the seasons of the world.

Why couldn't it just be one weather that was neither hot nor cold? Life just couldn't be simple.

"John, if you're feeling cold, you should wear more layers."

"Yeah and become a clothes pile."

The Squire was pressing a couple of the piano keys as he glanced at the Prince. A couple of months ago, the piano was still a messy piece that Paul loved due to its status of losing its former beauty, but now, it was fixed by his and Aunt Mimi's hands, it had a new charm. It wasn't weary and light, now under new paint and fresh wood, it was clean and lovely, the keys were placed back in, making up for the its loss earlier.

"Paul's baby" John jealously labelled it, almost never left his sight. Every day he was admiring it, nurturing it as he would a child, cleaning it, tuning it, playing it.. when lessons with John were complete, it was back to the piano, trying different chords and keys, humming nothing but stupidly loving notes of melodies. John didn't hate the piano, but he did rather dislike how it was one of the few things that caught Paul—Paulie the pretty ponce so drawn into it. He might as well marry that hunk of wood.

Damn.. it was a hunk. Even John was acknowledging it.

Focus back to the sweet, melodic instrument, Paul didn't notice John's glare at it. The conversation he had with Aunt Mimi still rang loudly though his head, occupying all of his senses with her kind words carried out strong with that unwavering voice of hers. The power in her tone stood even when she was uncertain—it gave a convincing light to everything she said, be it true or not. It was reassuring and sometimes frightening how well she does it.

When it was a word of encouragement, Paul took it like a hug from the rail-thin yet resolute Aunt. He was grateful that he didn't get to hear anything from her that would stir fear in him within the years he was here with them.

If she was not too concerned about John's impending doom for his sight, then he didn't have to worry too much about it. John was not going to back down and lose power by just mere glass frames near his eyes—he might help those who were treated wrong for their shortcoming.

And the thought of that had Paul smiling at him.

"What're you smiling about, huh? Happy that the poor Prince is going to freeze to death? What have I done to suffer so.."

His smile grew.

"Well for one, you took me in. I probably brought all the demons with me."

"Yeah, and where do demons come from? Hell! I should be burning!"

"What part about you do you want burnt, John?"

"My frozen heart, goddamnit." As soon as he made that comeback, John shied away. Cheeks red as apples, and lips pressed close, he turned away from Paul and faced the fireplace.

"Your heart seems warm enough."

"Okay, my freezing body, happy now?"

"A blanket won't make you a pile of clothes.. you'll stop freezing." Huffing with a smile, Paul lifted himself from the piano and draped a robe onto John's shivering body, carefully wrapping it around his shoulders from behind the chair he was seated on and gave his head a little ruffle. "See? You'll feel warmer now."

"I'll feel warmer if Paulie just cuddles me. They say it's the best for gathering warmth." John had a lop-sided grin, trying to embarrass Paul with his odd sense of solutions, but it had gone past him. John could quite literally see his words fly to the side of Paul's head, telling him that he didn't consider it for a second.

"I don't think you need three furnaces, John. Your rowdiness should be enough to put a fire into your system."

"You're right, I need five!"

Paul heaved a sigh, and John's smile grew longer. Just then, they heard the sound of bangs on the door. Turning his attention in its direction, Paul brightened up.

"Oh, must be Richie and Hazza!" chiming happily, he skipped over to the door and had it open with a smile. John pursed his lips, rolling his eyes. He didn't mind Richie and Hazza—if that was even their real names, knowing Lenny and Macca were certainly not! He didn't mind them at all, he just didn't like how it took four years for Paul to lighten up slightly to their positions. They were not Prince and a slave, they were close to brothers, they were friends just as Richie and Hazza were, yet they only took a month or two.

John had to put some extra elbow-grease into it.

"Macca, the place is freezing..!" Hazza croaked out with a shake and a hug of his arms, while Richie smiled kindly, stepping in as soon as Paul stepped to the side. "How you and Richie are not—not chatterin' like my teeth is unbelievable!"

"Tha's what I said, and what does pretty little Macca say, 'your rowdiness should be enough to warm you up'. What nerve..!"

"Close.. but not quite." Paul smiled wryly before waving a bit of his robe. "This keeps me warm, Hazza. Here."

John turned to see what Paul was doing and his frown grew. That damned giving soul of his! Now he was giving the very same thing that kept him from becoming a pillar of Macca ice to that jester Hazza. Damnit Hazza. Richie's baby blue eyes met his, and John had to take a mental step back, flinching when he noticed.

"What brother calls their younger ones 'pretty little'?"

John's cheeks flushed and Richie raised a brow. It was almost scary how he his face showed nothing—he was blank with those drooped, sad eyes and natural pout. It put John to shame.

"And that solves your cold dilemma, no need to thank me, Lenny."

"I wasn't going to!"

He really didn't know if he wanted the two around today. He wasn't the most welcoming host around.. he was cold and wanting nothing but to lay in bed all day while hearing Paul serenade him with his angelic voice and piano he was stuck to.

But seeing Paul so happy to see the two friends kept his foot on the ground, instead of in his mouth where he would've killed the joy that erupted with the presence of their friends. Even John was smiling at the sight of them when his eyes lingered upon sweet ol' Paulie helping them out of their boots and telling them to make themselves at home while he makes them some warm tea.

Tea sounded heavenly in this cold.

Poor Hazza was swimming in Paul's cloak, being so thin like a stick. John could barely see where his arms ended, but the lad was so content, he was practically burying himself in the warm cotton robe that was a lovely emerald green. Richie sat on the couch that was facing the piano like an audience, something Aunt Mimi bought to give the living room more of a 'living space' atmosphere. She noticed how the Squire wasn't as comfortable sitting in there with the two recliners close to the fire, so she had different arrangements ready in her mind.

It was when John had a closer look, he caught the bongo on Richie's lap and a guitar strapped to Hazza's back.

"Looks like you went shopping for tools but forgot your poor bodily needs." He cooed at Hazza, tease obvious and intentional as if he hoped Hazza heard the bite in it.

"Oh no, I have enough food for that."

"Ye got your priorities set all wrong, Hazza my boy. Food won't warm ye up when Winter hits, like it just did."

"Actually, it does. Y'see, hot foods do."

"Where were the hot foods when you were trudging through this cool day up till here?"

"I ate them too early."

"They did a pretty shite job at warming you up then."

"It was temporary, like this cloak."

At this, John took a bold step forward.

"Are you insulting the generous Macca?"

"I am not insulting him, but I mean what I mean, this is temporary comfort."

"Yes, and poor Macca's deprived of it now, imagine how cold he is in the kitchen, alone and preparing nice, hot tea for us."

"I could return it to him if he needs it..." Maybe John's humour wasn't working today, Hazza had a bit of a lost look in his eyes, wondering what he's supposed to be saying. Richie gave the two a shake of his head before he rose.

"Is the kitchen that way?"

John nodded, and Richie went out of their eyeshot. Hazza and John blinked, eyes following Richie and staying where they lost sight of him.

"Is it really a good idea for us to be alone here?" John dumbfoundedly commented, to which Hazza raised another brow at.

"Why? Are we destructive or something?"

"There's no one to stop us from ripping each other to shreds."

"Oh. Oh I got myself covered, don't ye worry." Hazza grinned, loosening the hold the cloak had on his body to show John his guitar. It was an impressive one at that, an acoustic one that John was surprised wasn't crushing Hazza with its weight.

"Can ye play it? That's the question, Hazzie."

"You think Richie and Macca are the only ones with musical talent?"

"If you call tapping buttons and slapping animal hides talent, then sure." John deadpanned with a shrug. Okay, maybe he was being a little harsh, but he was in one of those moods where it suited the atmosphere. There wasn't a need to be sweet like Paul who made sure he didn't offend any being on Earth, even a fly that stepped into his soup. Sometimes, it's alright to be rude.

"Your lies are becoming more and more obvious, Lenny."

"What lies?" he blinked, hearing the sigh in Hazza's calm voice.

"Ye really don't think of Richie and Macca that way, at least, not Macca. Ye believe in him more than anyone else, am I right?"

And by the way John's cheeks reddened, he knew he was right. On the spot, he could say.

"Don't be ashamed. He's your brother, the best ye could do is support him." By the way Hazza smiled at him, John sensed that he was quite familiar with sibling dynamic. John couldn't say that he was an expert himself, Paul was his "brother", but he was still teaching his teacher how to accept that. He was distant in their eyes, still avoiding that step onto the thin ice that would crack into a puddle even if it was for a good reason.

If that reason was to show them that he was unafraid of them. Rightfully fearless.

"Do you have a leash, Hazza?"

The incredulous glance he got from Hazza had him resisting a loud laugh.

"What in the ever living...?"

"I meant if you have a brother."

"Two of them, and a sister." The smile that adorned little Hazza's face was tender, telling John all he needed to know about his relationship with the thre siblings that he had. No doubt about it, he loved them, and they loved him too.

"Older?"

"Wouldn't be a leash if they were younger."

And John just had to laugh.

"I suppose you're Macca's leash, by your logic."

"I suppose I am..."

He really was. If he were to view it one way, he was the restraint on the Squire. The reason why he was here was solely for the Prince, the Aunt was a bonus. If he wasn't ordered by His Majesty to teach John the inner-workings of a Prince, he wouldn't be around here at all. John wouldn't have an adorable little brother, Aunt Mimi would not have a second nephew that she is taking care of.

The thought of the Squire not in his life couldn't occur to him. The world would be too bleak.

"Golly, it's freezing in here." Hazza's body shuddered like a leaf.

"That's what I kept telling Macca."

While John and Hazza stayed in the living room trying not to freeze their poor little bodies off, Richie joined Paul in the kitchen. The young Squire had a metallic pot on the gas stove, snapping leaves to place within it while they waited for it to boil. Richie watched the boy work as if he was an attendant in a Castle. Maybe he was a sort of a housekeeper to make up for Lenny's eccentric nature.

It was rather fascinating how every bit of Lenny and Macca differed from each other. Lenny had small, deep brown eyes that resembled Hazza's more than Macca, an aquiline nose that grooved down his less expressive face, and his movements were stiff and rather rough. Despite this outer rigidity, Lenny was the one whose heart was on his sleeve, with thorns protecting it as much as he could, confident yet fearful of the world.

It was as if he had something to prove, was an example to set. Like a Prince in training.

Macca, his little brother, had features that were softer than all three of theirs. Moreover, every movement of his was calculated, it was planned and pre-meditated. The little boy greatly concealed his boyish actions with veils of elegance, gracefully placing the leaves into the pot with the care of an elite attendant. It was very odd for him to be considered Lenny's brother when they were quite the opposite.

When he noticed Richie standing, leaning on the table, his big eyes gave him his full attention, staring with wide eyes.

"Oh Richie, when did you step in?"

Lenny would've quipped as he did with Hazza. It was almost frightening how the two kept up with each other, almost beating each other up with their words. In fact, it was surprising how they didn't raise their fists.

"A minute ago. I hope you don't mind me."

"Of course not, as I said earlier, make yourself at home."

Richie gave him a small thanks, seating himself on one of the chairs while Macca stood on his tip-toes to open a cabinet above the stove. Gosh, too much of a difference between Lenny and Macca, and it was only a couple of months since he's meet Lenny. Aunt Mimi even bore similarities to Lenny, Richie would've been able to draw more comparisons if she was around more often.

She was working whenever Hazza and he showed up and returned an hour before the dinner bell.

"Hey Macca, y'alright with me asking a question?"

He felt Macca's eyes upon him in slight concern before it sifted away.

"It's a question about Lenny, is it not?"

This time, Richie's eyes widened.

"Yeah, how'd you know?"

Macca gave him a wry smile.

"Everyone likes asking strange things about Lenny. Saying we don't act alike, we don't look related.." wow, now Richie did feel like an idiot, asking cruel questions. "I do assure you that we are family."

"Excuse me for asking that.."

"Don't worry about it, Lenny and I... it may not look like it on the surface, but we're a lot alike." The little playful smile that appeared on his face accentuated his words. If Richie were to take a closer look at where they stand, Macca and Lenny were on the same page of a book when it came to their hobbies. Both loved reading and writing, they had their little bites of sarcasm and witty retorts whenever the situation called for it, they just showed it differently.

Lenny was straight up about it, and Macca took a step back before he figured, it was best to go with it.

"Come to look at it, I can see how."

Macca's glance was soft, so tender that Richie found himself smiling ruefully at him.

"I've always wondered how it is to have siblings."

The familiarity in Macca's eyes was enough to tell Richie that it was, as his solitary life went, a double-edged sword. Everything had their pretties and uglies, it was no different with siblings. Being alone would give more time for the parents to invest in their child, but also brew loneliness in companionship for the alone child who would always have an age gap. Siblings were not the best friend you would take everywhere with you, and there is a lot to balance out when they exist.

Macca had to keep himself in check so that Lenny could do the same for him when he was at his limit.

"Can't live with them, nor without them, no?"

"Yeah." The young boy lowered the gas on the stove, lifting the lid of the pot to check if it was ready before turning his focus back to Richie. "Are you an only child?"

Richie gave a nod in response, then added, "but Hazza's the closest to a little brother, so I'm only biologically alone."

"Hazza would make a great younger brother, though I don't know if he'd want Lenny for an older..." Trailing off, he beckoned Richie closer, waving his fingers. Startled slightly, he followed Macca and the two peeked into the living room, hearing Lenny and Hazza speaking of topics similar. It was refreshing to see that the two could sit in solemn understanding after their long witty battles.

In fact, today they didn't appear to have any of that squabbles going on. They favoured the silence that was brought upon them by the solitude of two passionate souls.

"On second thought..." Macca's smile grew, watching the two fondly, and Richie continued where he left off.

"They make great siblings."

The sound of whistling—well, more like the screams of steam erupting from the tea pot pulled the two away from their reverie, running back to the kitchen. Richie had the cups aligned as Macca poured the fragrant liquid into the cups. When the two mixed the sugar, Macca had the piping hot kettle simmer down under cold water, and Richie had the four cups placed on a tray for him to carry.

"Tea's ready!" Macca called, Richie following behind with a bowl of sugar in case the four needed more.

**\--**

As days and weeks, months and some more months went on, it was starting to touch upon their unstrung nerves.

For every time Aunt Mimi returned from working in the market, she would be huffing a deep sigh, resting on the living room recliner next to the fire, wondering what in the world she has done to earn a punishment as this. At this time of the day, or night, the Squire would be sitting beside the Prince on the piano bench, both of them splaying paper and books over the instrument and their laps, striking the material with their quills then trying to press keys to coordinate the sound.

Now, Aunt Mimi did not mind the two-playing music at the end of the day. There was nothing wrong with the two wanting to share their passions through lovely melodies and harmonizing with each other, even if they didn't match pitch, or their voices cracked due to horrible technique, it was a little activity that seemed to soothe their troubling hearts.

Paul would sleep better in the night knowing the music that flows in his head, the pain in his heart, and the creative psyche that was threatening to rip him apart was let out in lovely stories. John... Golly, she has never seen John show a genuine interest in anything that was given his way. She had never seen him smile brighter than this, and the only person who made the sunshine appear on his growing handsome face was the sweet Paul.

What bothered her during these months of all this was—

"Who is it now?!" the harsh press of the wrong keys got Aunt Mimi and Paul jumping in their seats. John's shoulders stiffened as he heard knocks on the door, annoyed even before finding out who it could possibly be. Aunt Mimi heaved a sigh, watching her nephew gnash his teeth, slowly letting his fingers move away from forcing the piano to crumple wrong notes, and Paul closed the book on his lap, standing up.

"It could just be His Majesty's people. Maybe a Duke, maybe Duchess—" Paul's suggestions were getting him more annoyed.

"Oh, I'll tell ye who it is, Paulie. Men, freaking ugly and disgusting men!"

"John... we're men." Their Aunt's eyes shifted from the little Squire who was trying to reason, and the Prince who ran a hand across his face as if he was trying to rub off stupidity from it. "Hazza and Richie too, y'know."

"We're teenagers. Difference, Paulie." He marched over to the Squire who was about to open the doors and allow the person inside. Oh no, he wasn't. No way was he going to let anyone in who weren't Hazza or Richie.

"Okay, teenagers. You're going to be a man in about 3 years." Paul met Aunt Mimi's gaze, "and if it is a suitor.." then returned to John, "you're going to be doing that in the future too."

"That doesn't matter! They're men approaching women who don't want it."

Paul and Aunt Mimi's eyes widened for a moment. Wow, that was a compelling point, and he was spot on with why it was wrong.

Under no circumstance did Aunt Mimi want to take a man's hand in marriage. Uncle George was enough of that, and no one more was going to take that place. She wasn't even planning on marrying Uncle George in the first place, but that kind man accepted her even if she couldn't provide what his family wanted, what he possibly wanted.

And John knowing that had her heart melt with warmth. He couldn't spend a lot of time with Uncle George but loved him dearly.

The Squire was also moved by his words. She observed him lowering his hand off the knob slowly, inching lower and lower and away till he couldn't reach the wood. His eyes were wide, staring through the Prince, searching for where the train started and crashed into his heart. Then his gaze shifted Aunt Mimi, allowing John's rougher hand to grasp his tight without any acknowledgement, like a puppet following him back to the piano and leaving aside the knocking door.

He was seeking approval from the Aunt, wishing she'd input wisdom into their little situation.

"I'll answer it if they're still around."

The power that was regularly in her voice was missing. She too, was as lost as Paul was in this.

"C'mon Paulie, let's get back to more important business." John had to tap him on the back for him to return to their matter of song writing. "If it was Richie or Hazza, they would've sent a letter to ye."

"Right." With a last glance at their Aunt, the Squire returned to the piano, pressing keys and with a glance, asked the Prince if it would flow well with their lyrics. They went on testing different sounds, singing their words out and exploring the world of music with their gear on and curiosity up in the air like a rocket.

Aunt Mimi shook her head with a smile, knowing that Paul was only indulging John's interests. It was nothing serious they could make out of it, and if they do, then goodwill to them, but she knew by the Squire's sigh that he was keeping it low profile to keep the Prince from falling under the arms of peer pressure.

And she was willing to do the same if Paul wanted her to.

For a while, they were going to tolerate the flirts that went Aunt Mimi's way. They were not going to step in and put them their feet to scare off the suitors sent Aunt Mimi's way. Paul couldn't stop John's refusal to allow anyone in the vicinity of his gremlin Aunt. He almost threatened one with biting their heads off if he had to, had Paul not hold him back.

Aunt Mimi was a self-made woman, she didn't need them to embarrass themselves, facing people that must've been sent by His Majesty to 'help their Aunt'. She didn't need help from a man who couldn't even take care of his son or send well wishes to him, knowing where he lived..

One of those days, Aunt Mimi returned home to find Paul running his eyes through books splayed on the floor, with John seething, balling his fists to keep them at bay, away from landing them into the faces of those sorry suitors. She glanced down to see what Paul was reading and huffed.

"Paul, are you reading what I think you are?"

The Squire's face snapped up to face her, as if caught doing something naughty.

"Oh, Aunt Mimi, I was just reading about suitors," he began to gnaw on his finger once again, a habit she saw forming quite a bit now, "just a general rundown on it. If they were sent by His Majesty, then do you have the right to refuse? Those sorts of things.."

John threw a glare his way.

"Of course, she could refuse, she doesn't love them!"

"While that makes sense, we have to see it legally, John. If she is given a suitor that His Majesty decrees she must wed, can she really disobey him?"

"Yes, she f—freaking can!" he caught himself before he laid a swear. "She doesn't have to marry a wanker. I'm going to kill him!"

And every time John had uttered such careless words, Paul would rush in and advise him against it.

"That's not the way."

And John would combat back, "and soon it will when that Crown lands on my freaking head!"

Aunt Mimi saw the Squire flinch at his words. The books closed under his hands as he bit his lip with a shake of his head.

"John, you're not going to get an inch of freedom once you become Prince by official word.." and Paul narrowly avoided the wrath of John, who instead of laying his fist upon his soft cheek, slammed it down on the book once he reached him. Paul swallowed a lump in his throat, contemplating his words that were unfortunately, nothing but true. "You're going to be restrained even more than ever, limited to actions that help the public, not harm them."

"This _is going to help people_ , namely Aunt Mimi, and all the women who are forced into marriage!" the two locked glares, Paul out of nervous conviction, and John out of blind fury. The glare lowered once he added, "and well, men too."

She hated it when they were involving themselves in this mess. She couldn't blame them though, it was the tenth month where she got another suitor visiting her by door, talking to her at the market, or even standing in her garden, trying to find a common ground before they spoke political matters.

John absolutely did not want her to marry, knowing that man was going to take all her time and they would lose moments with her, and Paul was... Paul was debatable, he was trying his very best not to put his two cents into it without thinking of it in a way the King would.

Sometimes, even she wanted to know what he personally thought of the state of affairs. It would damage him, but she needed to hear it from him of all people before stepping forward or backward.

If she were to be honest, she did not want to remarry. John's damned father was merely making a joke out of her, harassing her, being a freaking nuisance. If he was not King, let's say she would've showed the side John inherited; she would ram that ugly face of his father into the wall until he became a presentable man.

"Little Paul," the boy glanced up at her, big eyes so wide and childlike. She forgot for a moment that he was almost both their superior. "What does the book say about a King proposing a suitor to a person?"

"It only says that parents of the ones to be wed are the ones who arrange it. The King has no say in the matter."

Of course, John had to shout in triumph.

"See! My stupid dad doesn't have to pick someone for Meems, and she won't have to marry them."

"If it benefits the public, she might have to. Marriages were not always on the basis of love, John."

John glowered down at him, his tone surprisingly gentle. Aunt Mimi frowned at how it meant he was at his limit about it. He didn't want anything to change, period.

"I don't want her to marry for bull like that."

"And I'm kind of relieved he can't use his power like that." Paul's smile was wry, fear still within his shoulders that he almost clung to. She saw those fiddling figures reaching out but stopping every now and then. "But you can't kill them, alright?"

"That does mean I am not bound by law to marry if His Majesty says so, correct?" Aunt Mimi asked instead, knowing the two could go on and on once they've started. She had to remind them that she was, in fact, still here.

Paul gave her a nod, stacking the books together before putting them back onto the shelf.

"Pretty much."

At least, that hurdle is out the way.

"But Aunt Mimi, is there a reason why you are unmarried?"

John was about to make a retort, opening his mouth, but Aunt Mimi raised a hand in his direction.

"I was married, Paul. My husband died a year after John started living with me." He didn't have to know the grave details but deserved to know enough to understand why John was adamant on keeping his Aunt from suitors. At least, if he knew she was a widow, he would be a bit more supportive about it requiring a personal element than the political needs.

Paul only gave a stare in response. Nothing but a mere glance at her with those big doe eyes of his.

"Little Paul, are you alright?"

His eyes shifted to the ground, still having that lost look in it. Rather than lost, it was as if he was connecting the dots. Why was John living with them? If she was married, how long ago was it? Surely, if it was years ago, they would have a child or two.. Aunt Mimi would make a great mother with the way she has been taking care of him and John, it would be odd if she didn't want children of her own.

"Oh, it's nothing, Aunt Mimi." He smiled, but the effort to plaster one was obvious. "I do think John's right about refusing suitors, but don't kill them.."

"Then I'll do exactly that, alright?" Not wanting the child to force a smile in front of her, she gave his fluffy head a ruffle. "It's a pointless thing to get old Aunt Mimi to settle with a man."

"Besides, you have us, you don't need a man." John stepped in, pouting cutely.

And Aunt Mimi sensed the moment Paul's smile that was to appear just wipe away with the thought of eventually leaving her. John knew that he won't be staying in Mendips forever, didn't he?

He's been told that almost every year, now it was just a matter of two-three years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading~. Hope I have not bored you to death.


	11. An Unexpected Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quicker update as I promised. Well, I almost promised since I wasn't sure if I could keep my word. It's nice to see it is.  
> I made the mistake of basing John's familial life loosely on Nowhere Boy when I started this book, so until a fortnight ago, I didn't really know how involved Julia really was in John's life. My heart goes out to her.. unfortunate circumstances led to bad decisions, but she really did love John. It's beautiful.
> 
> And golly, I didn't know how much a heart could break until these years. It's simply odd.
> 
> Also, I noticed I made a comment about John's smile before, I meant it for this chapter. I forgot to remove that note while pasting the document. Originally this was the next chapter, but I thought it needed some more cushioning before this could pop in.

**\--**

As the years went by, they began to see Hazza and Richie a lot less.

It was not due to disagreements or a difference in interest, rather, the Squire and the Prince had gotten so busy with their training when more duties piled in on them. When John reached the age of sixteen, the Squire found letters coming their way, messenger birds perching on his shoulder whenever he opened the door. Each letter had an inquiry of what the Squire was teaching the Prince as time was nearing them, the fateful moment where he returns to his Kingdom and begins his initiation.

He answered some of the letters until they have become regular. He didn't want John to know they were receiving letters that did not ask of his well-being, if he was fed well or how greatly he was growing, but only if he knows what he has to do and nothing more. It was disheartening as being disowned, to be seen as a vessel or a puppet tied to a million strings by the man who has put a part of himself and had a beautiful maiden give birth to him.

But he knew the Prince had that suspicion on the back of his mind. While he was teaching him to the best of his ability, he didn't hold back explaining the bitter fate he was left with. He decided it was better to break his heart about his future earlier than later, where it would hurt like a sledgehammer into soft marshmallows.

John knew that he won't be respected for who he truly is, and that was the straws of battle that were forming within him. He didn't want to be the Prince if all he was a marionette to them. He is and will always be John Winston Lennon for a reason. Not just a nameless nobody of the Kingdom Court.

And he will remind them every single day of their pathetic lives.

Now, the reason why it had started to pile up more and more.. the Prince seemed to forget most of what the Squire taught him, so he had to take a step back and teach him those same lessons over and over, again and again. It was rather strange how it suddenly happened. The Prince was learning so well, excelling at anything that was placed upon his table, but now...

The Squire met with papers trying to slip under his feet to be crushed. When he glanced up at the Prince, he would see that the poor lad was acting out of nerves. His auburn hair was growing smoothly, straight and close to a quiff when John ran his fingers into it and pushed it back. Now it was sticking to his forehead in frustration, his hands either clawing in it, or at the table, and if the Squire paid attention to it, there were marks on the wood that were growing deeper and deeper as it continued to be abused.

His mind shifted to a thought of his back scarred as badly as the table one day. By John or the other figures of authority that would spit upon him like a slave he's now the equivalent of.

"Hei John, I think we should call it quits for tonight." His voice sounded a mumble as he knelt down to pick up what the Prince had thrown down. That was his job, after all. If the Prince tossed something, he would be the one sweeping the pieces, and have it put into its placeholders. If the Prince had a plan, he would carry it out.

It was better that the Squire did not meet his gaze, but he did. If the Prince's disheveled hair was to worry about, his face was even more. His cheeks were flushed red, dusting his healthy tan into a clammy and unsettled tone. Sweat riddled him, and his teeth were in a tight clench, grinding and gnashing. His eyes, his lovely deep brown eyes that often spoke to the Squire were bloodshot, rimming a scarlet on the lower lid, and in a cruel glare.

"Tonight, Paulie? Just tonight?"

The Squire then caught on his mistake, blinking once.

"My apologies, make it a week." Out of instinct, he bowed to the Prince, eyes downcast and afraid. He repressed every shake and shiver that were coming his way. He couldn't shudder in front of the boy he trusts the most. The Prince he cares dearly for. The little lost child that he loves.

Yes, all in present tense, as it had not changed.

"A week." He parroted, completely deadpan, and the Squire resisted another wince.

"Longer?" he couldn't read the words in the book that were once so clear and flooded around the leaflets. The Prince's eyes bore into him like a stranger, like a threat, like...

Like a tired and ill boy.

Mustering enough courage, he stepped up to the Prince, bypassing the table that put a distance between them and knelt on a knee.

"Johnny, are you alright?"

Upon a closer inspection, the poor Prince was a mess. His shirt was sticking close to his body, creating an uncomfortable wedge of wrinkles and dampness around his warm body, his collar buttons were undone, and the Squire's eyes caught more sweat and flushed skin. The Prince's eyes were not angry, they were not glaring, they were struggling. He was pleading for help but couldn't move past half-lidded eyes and keeping his head in his palm.

He couldn't lift his face even if he wanted to, and now the Squire was noticing it.

The Squire his hands around the Prince's face, wiping the sweat off his pink cheeks, not missing the hiss that came from him. The Prince only managed to mutter, "ye're cold..". Wiping his hands on a handkerchief, the Squire brushed more sweat off the Prince's face before laying his hand the poor Prince's forehead.

Holy heck.

The Prince was burning like a furnace under his cool hand.

"How long, John?"

How did he let this slip by? For how long was John sitting here, sick like a dog and yet doing whatever he can to co-operate with Paul and his daily lessons? Had he ignored the Prince when he sought permission for a break, for rest in his exhausted body?

"C'uple o' hours.." he slurred, missing some of the syllables, not that it mattered. The Squire couldn't bite back the frown that strewn across him. He was supposed to be making these the best years of the Prince before he would return to the Kingdom and they would lose time 'goofing around' since his skills would be put to the test.

Before the Prince was in constant war of wits, sanity and pressing Royal business.

Without him realizing what it could imply, the Squire's colder hands caressed his face, eyes wide in concern and his teeth gnawing his lower lip. He could use a cold compress, but he didn't want the Prince falling over if he stood away even for a second. He was barely hanging on, and the Squire started to sense the weight of the Prince fall upon him inch by inch, pound by pound.

The Prince was trying very hard to speak and breathe in one taking, the gnashing of his teeth was to hide his outward vulnerability.

"Don' cry, Paulie.. I can't take tha.."

The Squire eyes stayed, meeting the Prince's, although with a little confusion. Did he really appear as though he was about to break down and cry right here and now? That was not something he was allowed to do—not with His Highness himself. Rather than having a need to cry, it was disappointing that he has lived with the Prince and his Aunt for more than three years now and he still has not realized when the Prince is pushing himself too far.

While he felt his friend's body beginning to collapse on him, he took a peek at his face and saw a smile finally make its way, a small but sweet smile on the Prince's soft face. The Squire almost followed it but refused knowing it was not proper to be smiling in a moment like this. The least he could do was have him resting on his bed in his chambers before he could celebrate anything.

"Come on, John, let's get you to the bed.." he whispered, mostly to himself as the Prince had no chance of going beyond slipping off the chair he was seated on. Slinging the older boy's arm around his shoulders, he had a light hand near his waist to support him. He was certainly not the heaviest person he's helped in walking, but he was also not the lightest to carry, so the Squire found supporting him like a crutch would be easier to do.

In a metaphorical sort of way, that was also his job in his current life. To support the Prince in every sort of way, to be the crutch he could use to stand, the cushion to fall upon when it gets rough, to be the one who stays by him even at his worst.

And he was ready to put all effort into fulfilling it, now more than ever.

It took a while longer than he believed to get from the Prince's study to his chambers. The Squire had to stop to make sure the Prince was not slipping off of him as he supported him, walking in the speed that the Prince could hold on to. When the Prince was laid upon the bed, the Squire was making his way out of the chambers but a hand gripping his like a life-line stopped him.

"Can you please stay.. it feels good."

The Squire glanced back, full of caution for the reasons unknown. Foolish questions made their way into his thoughts. Why did the Prince want him to stay? Why did the Prince have such longing in his tone? Why was it that the Prince wanted nothing but his company? What about his Aunt who could save him where the Squire could not?

How was he going to fare when their Aunt was not around them? The Squire feared that part of the future more than anything else.

"I'll be back, really. I'm just getting a cold compress for your head."

"Ye're cool enough for that." There was a little beg in his voice that the Squire couldn't tell where it was coming from, and why it was directed to him. "I don't want to be left behind."

"Johnny, I—"

"Please... oh please, stay."

Frown deepening, the Squire gave the hard hand a gentle squeeze, searching the Prince's pleading eyes. The only thing that came to his mind was that he confronted someone who has left him behind and interrupted the process of burying those memories away, unable to have them cremated and scattered on the ground. On the other hand, it could be a delirious nightmare.

And Paul hoped it was just the latter. Unfortunately, by the way the Prince was doing his all to hold it all in, but failure of it told him it was the former.

"Okay, I'll stay."

"Paulie.. would you really stay?"

At this moment, he gave the Prince a smile. "As long as you want me to."

"Please, don't ever leave me."

Not knowing what the future held, he couldn't guarantee it. It was the same as making empty lies for him to believe in.

"I'll try my very best, John."

John smiled again, small and so kind, it filled Paul's heart with the need to fulfill his pseudo-promise to the fullest. If he could stay, he wanted it to be as long as John wanted him to. He would make sure not to leave on his own accord. John was an adorable friend he didn't want to desert, he didn't want to take the petty route and ditch him even if it meant saving his own life. His life was John's, and John could decide anything he wanted when it came to him.

He didn't have it in him to fight his will.

"John, what made you feel this way?" what reminded John of his loneliness? Who was it that pushed John back into that spiral he was running against? Paul had to know—not because he was his Squire, but as a friend, as his little brother, as someone who he loved dearly.

"Mum."

One word was enough for the Squire to let out a gasp.

"Your Mother..?"

"We've spoken to her at Strawberry Fields." The glance that John gave him was enough for Paul's heart to break.

_\--_

_The two were heading to Strawberry Fields after roaming the gardens and giving assistance to Aunt Mimi with the month's harvest._

_While the Prince insisted that he was fine with undergoing another lesson with the Squire as they walked to Strawberry Fields, the Squire continuously shook his head, suggesting that it was better to have a break before his little mind explodes._

_"Ye think I'm a wuss, Paulie?" he would sneer, getting uncomfortably close to the Squire, anticipating a little flinch from him, but wasn't granted one._

_The Squire would only shoot back in the speed of a javelin toss,, "I think you've had enough for these days."_

_"I didn't have enough, I'm good for another lesson or three!"_

_Not wanting to admit he was tired was just John being John, a cheeky, meddlesome silly willy. He knew Paul wouldn't stand for it, but it was still amusing to try and see if he does budge._

_"John, I want to write with you."_

_And that was enough for the dam to rebuild, John's furrowed brow raising up with a big smile._

_"Oh, that's even better! I've got an idea for a couple of songs."_

_Then Paul smiled, "there we go, that's the John I was looking for."_

_"Geez, could'a told me ye were lookin' for me. I'm right here."_

_The Squire simply shook his head._

_"Ye're no fun, Paulie."_

_"Even when I am writing songs with you? When I get tangled dancing with you? When I—"_

_"Nevermind!"_

_"Am I boring to you, Johnny boy?" oh gosh, how irritating yet adorable that coy smile was._

_"I just meant you take everything without fighting back, Hazza the troll and the gremlin Meems don't take my—" he swore, "but you don't bother.."_

_"Hazza the troll and Aunt Mimi the gremlin."_

_John's eyes widened._

_"What? That's what they mostly resemble."_

_"I took Hazza as more of a... a crow, and Aunt Mimi a bear."_

_As Paul had a hand on his chin, finger slipping into his mouth, he didn't notice the long grin that came onto John's face. It was when the silence lingered that he glanced up and noticed it, raising his brows in question._

_"I'm so going to tell Meems you called her a grizzly bear."_

_"Not a grizzly..."_

_"But a big, hairy bear nonetheless."_

_The Squire hummed, then added, "you don't get it? A bear is kind and protective, like Aunt Mimi."_

_The grin didn't shift. "You still called her a bear. A bear."_

_"What's wrong with that?"_

_"She's long accepted being an ugly gremlin, but a bear? From cute ol' Paulie? How will she take it?"_

_"Not as bad, I presume."_

_"She'll bear with yer poor sense of noticing social cues."_

_"I'm bad with communication?"_

_"The worst at it, Paulie. It's almost unbearable."_

_"I didn't really notice..." he glanced to the side, sucking a little on his middle finger._

_'He's nervous. He only tries eating his fingers when he's got the jitters.' John wondered how he wasn't taught not to do that._

_"Of course, ye wouldn't notice, ye won't even notice if I punched it with my bare hands."_

_As John waited, realization came to Paul with a couple of knocks to his head._

_"John, are you doing a word play on bears?"_

_John's quip switch flicked on once more. "'course not, I don't have bears for hands."_

_The way John glared straight at him with that comment had Paul falling into a little laugh. It didn't take long for him to join the younger boy in their giggles and chuckles. When Paul smiled, he.... John wasn't sure how to describe it. It was full. His entire body laughed with him. It wasn't mere giggles slipping his lips, his eyes would crinkle, his shoulders would shake, and he_ _would almost bounce because his little body couldn't contain the excitement emitting from him. When he smiled, his entire face brightened like a little sun, so warm and kind._

_It was really, really adorable._

_It was a great contrast to his own laugh. Yes, he smiled bright, he laughed loudly, but his posture was still so firm, unshakeable, and his face is often mistaken for a serial killer when his lips stretched so far. Though Paul would so obviously disagree with this train of thought. In fact, he would explode that very phrase with a well-loaded bazooka._

_"So," Paul finally calmed himself down, taking a long breath before he shifted his gaze back to him. "Is my sense of communication really unbearable?"_

_"Not too much. Meems hasn't seen you laugh like this, so she would say yes." It was just fun picking on him as he took things far too seriously._

_"That would be bad on my teaching record..."_

_"Oh sod off, no one cares about how well you talk if I talk well." It was an evaluation only on the Prince, not on his trainer._

_"But that's it, John. It's on you, and if you don't present yourself well.." Paul trailed off, so John took it upon himself to finish his sentence._

_"They'll see who taught him and spank his arse. Oh well."_

_"They'll see how to twist his head into his.. y'know what." By the looks of it, Paul didn't appreciate the joke. His little smile was now a pressed tight line and John didn't miss the wince in his posture. He really was afraid for John, wasn't he?_

_"Ye taught me well, I mean... I only talk like this 'cause it's y'know, just the two of us."_

_"It's not that, John.. no no."_

_"Then what is it?"_

_"It's that you only have two months until you might be sent back."_

_At this, John gaped. Sure, he was nearing the age of majority, but he was certain that they would take him when he was about twenty years of age, as that was a good year to be courting a bird and then marrying her the next year. Wasn't eighteen a bit too young?_

_"Wait... what? What?"_

_Paul's eyes were to the side, lips parted, but only taking in a breath._

_"What do you mean? Are you sure it's in two months?"_

_"It's mostly presumption. They want you to attend to your Princely duties as soon as possible."_

_"Who told you this?"_

_"His Majesty roughly told me that when he told me of my responsibilities.."_

_"Dad?" that son of a gun! Why John oughta kill that bastard._

_Paul only gave a nod._

_"God.. I want to kill him as soon as I'm officially Prince."_

_Then Paul smiled._

_"But John, by official word, you were born a Prince, you mean when they give you your duties as Prince."_

_"Right!" John hid his little blush. "When I'm qualified to give out orders, I'm goin' to kill that bastard."_

_"You know you can't do that..." Paul's smile was wry, full of unease at the thought of murder. The urge to press for answers became stronger at this moment as it did years ago when he was trying to figure out Paul's lineage._

_"Paulie, did you happen to witness a death like that?"_

_And he was about to answer, he was ready as he was those years ago. He was going to tell John everything that was resting deep within his heart. The walls were coming down, coming down.. until they were not._

_"You think someone's there?"_

_He pointed to a bush ahead of them. As the years went on, Strawberry Fields was growing alongside them. There were people who were actually taking care of the Field and not letting the lush greenery die as they let the building collapse. But John was not in the mood to be gushing about the lush and beauty of his favourite place second to Mendips Fortress._

_He was ignited with such a strong curiosity about Paul's family that nothing else mattered. In fact, the fact that Paul was not reciprocating that same interest threw a knot into his head. He avoided a scowl, not wanting to scare him, instead indulging his inquiry._

_"I don't see anyone."_

_"Really? I thought I saw a figure there.."_

_John gave him an apprehensive look. Was he really not seeing what Paul was? Surely, there was no one but a cluster of trees and bushes._

_"I'm going to take a look, alright John?"_

_"Wait, you're not supposed to leave me by myself in public.."_

_Paul's eyes widened, almost swearing but catching himself before he did._

_"Wow, you're right John. Come with me then."_

_The two made their way to the bush where Paul saw this person waiting for them—or just watching them like a creep in the wild. It was not Hazza nor Richie, that was for sure. They weren't called to meet up here for practice, that was done in Mendips Fortress' basement floors so that they don't disturb Aunt Mimi as much._

_They found a young girl hiding in the bush, curled up to herself and trying her very best not to weep._

_Being better with people than John who was about to pull her to her feet with a scowl, Paul knelt down to her level, his hand as gentle as a cat's caress, tapped her shoulder._

_"Little girl, are you hurt?"_

_The little girl jumped upon contact, turning around and gazing at Paul with wide eyes._

_"W-who are you?" she wailed, attempting to cover her face with her hands._

_"A passerby." Paul glanced at John for a second and saw why she was so fearful of his appearance. John had the eyes of someone who was ready to beat her skull into the tree for no reason. The sun must've been in his eyes. "Don't worry about my friend here, he's just having a bad day."_

_"Are... are you going to lock me in a basement, Mister?"_

_Paul smiled wryly._

_"Never would I think of doing that to anyone. Not even Her Majesty herself."_

_Then the girl smiled._

_"My name's Julia," she bit the middle of her finger. "What's yours?"_

_Julia? Her name was.... John's eyes widened, now out of what felt like a shot into his chest. How much it felt like someone had his heart in their hand and was proceeding to crush it into millions of pieces._

_"I'm—"_

_"John?"_

_Paul and John whipped their heads in direction of the voice. The little girl followed their stare and beamed._

_"Mother!"_

_And Paul heard John mutter, "Mum...?"_

_"John!"_

_She was beautiful, to say the least. She had John's auburn hair, only longer and curled at the tips. She was a bit taller than Aunt Mimi, but shorter than John and Paul who were a bit taller this current year. She dressed in a lovely cotton dress that consisted of three layers. One layer a baby blue, and the others a soft white._

_But if that was John's mother..._

_The woman who had John frozen to the ground ran over to the two, and by instinct, Paul didn't like this woman getting any closer to John. First of all, he didn't know who she was, but if she was John's mother, she didn't have any right to be acting like the hatchet was buried between them. He stood up in a rough motion and stood in front of him with a glower._

_"With all due respect, please stand back, Milady." John's eyes laid on the hesitance in Paul's posture as he stood in the front, fists balled and reaching for a little knife that Aunt Mimi had given him. "State your business."_

_"A knave speaking to me in such an abrasive manner.." the woman pursed her rosy lips, "I was here in search for my little girl, but I had not expected to see my little boy. He's grown so much in so little time.."_

_"Mum...?" John mumbled with the weakness of a wounded child. "Is that really you?"_

_"Oh John, my little John.."_

_The little girl, Julia, stepped away from the bush and clasped her hand on John's cloak. When he heard Paul's silence lingering, posture barely relaxing even when the Mother and child began to connect. John furrowed his brow, tapping Paul on the shoulder to have the poor guy out of the way. "It's cool, Paul, let me talk to her."_

_Paul met his eyes before nodding, stepping to the side and motioning to Julia to be with her mother._

_"Mum, this is not a knave, he's my teacher." His mumble was finally firm. Paul couldn't help but smile. It may have been vain, but he loved it when John stood up for him, knowing that he always done the same._

_"Under whose authority is he teaching you?"_

_"My damned Dad."_

_"A mere child couldn't possibly teach you all that you need to know.."_

_"He's taught me more than you have, Mum." Paul noticed the falter in his tone, the bravado falling in a matter of seconds. "I've been waiting for you to come get me.."_

_"John..?"_

_"I've been waiting eleven years for you to come back, Mum."_

_"I've been meaning to see you after a while.."_

_"You never came, Mum. What happened?" John bit his lip. All those days where he wished so bad that he was wrong. That his parents still loved and needed him, that they were desperate to have him under their care. He envisioned his parents fighting Aunt Mimi for them to attain custody over him and mend their mistake._

_But as time went on, he stopped believed in it._

_He's now made a home with Aunt Mimi and Paul, and now she comes to him? Why now? Why not when he was still ten years old, wondering if the knocks on Mendips Fortress were by her asking her sister to be able to see John? Surely, she would know where Aunt Mimi was—they were sisters!_

_But as much as his heart broke at the emptiness she left behind; he didn't want her to leave in this current moment. He was so afraid that she was going to vanish, and he'd be alone again._

_"His Majesty, your father forbade me! He never let me enter the Kingdom gates, I was never given the chance."_

_There was no tinge of a lie in her speech and judging by the shock on Paul's usually placid face, she was telling the truth. His father must've had her believe he was still in the Kingdom, and not by Aunt Mimi's. For all the boys presumed, she must've been threatened that her sister was killed by Royal Orders._

_"Milady, His Highness John's not living in the Castle."_

_"He's been banished too?" her eyes were at Paul's, who chose his words carefully as if he was stepping on eggshells. How much was he supposed to tell her?_

_"No, he's under Lady Mary Smith's care." He swallowed a lump in his throat. "Milady, it seems that His Majesty has spoken lies to you."_

_"You..." They simply met gazes for a moment, her eyes wide and searching through his cautious and guarded eyes. "I can see you are not lying, but you are keeping something from my son."_

_"Unnecessary things."_

_John figured he should be wary of those curtly spoken words, but having known Paul for so long, whatever was hidden about him no longer mattered. He wasn't going to pull any clever tricks_ _for he had no power to do so. If he claims that they are unnecessary, so be it._

_Besides, he couldn't be pressing on matters that draw discomfort from him when he smiled so kindly to him._

_Instead of trying to diminish their trust, he inched a little closer to ask if they could have her visit Aunt Mimi. Paul gave a nod that had him smiling, his body filling with warmth as his smile swelled his heart._

_"Milady, if I may, His Highness would appreciate it if your daughter and you join us on our path back to Mendips Fortress."_

_"His Majesty wouldn't allow me to.." the little girl ran to stand behind her mother who twiddled her fingers._

_"He doesn't need to know of your whereabouts."_

_"No, that won't do." His Mother was nervous for reasons John couldn't tell. Was she as strung in the nerves as he was at the sight of her? Was she lost, falling into old memories that she burnt when she had to leave her son? Did it burn a pyre into her heart remembering the one she no longer had under her arms?_

_The sweet swell of John's heart was growing painful. He didn't want Paul to play the courteous, inviting young boy he naturally was. He just wanted her to go away—have Paul go back to a scowl, defensive over the Prince he lives to protect._

_But one glance into those doe eyes that were pleading the Mother to understand reason, he knew it was impossible to tell him to turn back. Something in the way Paul spoke, the way he was trying to give the woman a chance told him he was projecting his feelings to his own Mother into her. Why else would a friend put the effort to have a stranger of a parent to bond with their_ _child once more?_

_Paul must've lost his Mother. Now as to what he meant by 'lost' could be death or how His Majesty forcibly separated him by sending him to Aunt Mimi._

_Something in the way he was reaching to her was personal._

_"Paul," and he ceased all speech, doe eyes roaming to John in question, "let's just go. She doesn't want to be around me."_

_"No, John I—"_

_"Save it."_

_Finding his heart finally crumbling into a thousand glass shards, he turned his heel away from her, his hand gripping Paul's arm tight like a vulture's grasp and pulled him to do the same. In his heat of desperation, he didn't notice how tight he was clutching onto his arm until Paul made a small wince. He missed how his Mother and her daughter—both sharing the same name, coincidence it was not, gasped in shock at his abrasive touch._

_He didn't miss Paul waving a free hand and telling him not to fear anything, he heard every reassurance he offered, informing them that John was tired, he was not really holding him so tight to rip his arm off, he just wanted to signal him._

_Paul was covering for him, he knew. He knew that all that John wanted to do was fall into a pit where he could sit alone and cry his eyeballs out. He didn't want anyone to join him—he certainly did not want his Mother to see the tears he's cried, not when she didn't have the strength to carry him. It must've been keen instincts for that Squire to know when he needed to get those eyes off John and lay them on him. Those pitiful gazes that he didn't welcome, Paul made sure they diverted to glances in disbelief._

_That Paul was truly an idiot for condoning John's bad behaviour._

_But God... did Paul make him feel safe._

_\--_

The Squire's hand ran softly around the sweaty bangs of the Prince, the other in his tight and secure grasp, both vowing not to let go. Now that he had a moment to do nothing but keep his eyes on the Prince, he took that moment to appreciate ever speck of his beauty. His hair, so light under the light shining a brilliant scarlet that he didn't know could ever been biological—having never gotten the chance to actually go out and see those people in the flesh.

His books shown Princesses with tresses of crimson, of the brightest blonde, the silken silver, or the darkest ebony. He's seen black upon his own head, upon Aunt Mimi, silver and grey upon the elders, chocolate brown upon so many..

None of them had the radiant mix as the Prince had. His were brown one minute, black in the dark, and red under the sun's rays. He couldn't stop feeling amazed to be graced every day with this sight. His facial structure so firm, hard-headed like a true ruler, so strong and proud even under weakness. Even as his cheeks were flushed and his thin lips whimpering, it didn't take away the power from him.

Those eyes never lost their light, even when facing the worst. How small they were, and yet, prettier than the big, dopey ones he had. John could easily pose as someone superior and every person would believe it. A little puff of his chest and all would be bowing under him. Do not mistaken, Paul was not envious; he did not want what John had. He was simply admiring the Prince. He was in awe of this living, breathing creature was the same as the little boy he was teaching for how long now? About a decade close.

His fingers continued caressing, shifting the Prince's bangs as he was strumming strings of a harp: with utmost care. Had he grown too careless over the passage of time? Assuming John was above his humanly limits and pushed him too far?

He truly had no right to be calling himself his teacher if he couldn't recognize that.

"Everyone.. leaves me, Paulie. Everyone." The Prince began to mutter, eyes up at the Squire, battling the struggle to keep them open, tears trying to slip down. The Squire's tranquil caresses encouraged the Prince to let it all out, silently promising that it was fine, that he wouldn't judge him, and it would not make him any less of a Prince if he broke down.

John's eyes were growing more and more scarlet due to pressure. "Aunt Mimi.. you.. I'm afraid of losing you guys soon."

The Squire finally spoke, stepping away from the soft, quiet strokes.

"We won't leave. His Majesty might force us to be away from your sight, but we will still be around."

The Prince swore at the mention of his father.

"He left me, and now he wants to take away all that I have."

"I won't leave you, even if he chains me into a dingy dungeon."

The Prince's eyes widened at that.

"No, no no no. Paulie no!" He was shaking his head, eyes squeezing shut and clenching the Squire's hand tighter. "I won't ever... he can't do that to you."

"He could try." The Squire's hand came to a halt, laying to rest upon the Prince's clammy forehead. Like a spell, the Prince's noticing how his movement ceased with long, heavy breaths as soon as he did that. "But I'll still be with you."

"You better." His breath came rushed, and the Squire felt the breath of heat upon his cheeks, realizing how close the two really were. "Or I'll kill you."

And his smile was enough for the Prince to return it, albeit weak and weary.

"Kill me if I decide not to serve you."

"You promised not to leave..."

"And I intend to keep my word, but John.. if I do happen to serve someone else," his gaze went to the window, "if I ever think I could leave, kill me."

The Prince couldn't see those hazel eyes anymore, having shifted to the wall, but by the way the Squire's hand clenched onto his, he realized that he truly was afraid of parting from John. It was not just some one-sided poncy proclamation, but a shared sentiment. They didn't know what was going to happen to them in two months' time, and John and Paul both feared the possibility of parting ways.

By the time John is coronated, he wouldn't need Paul anymore.

It shouldn't have been, but John's sweaty and far too warm body cooled with relief that even Paul could not keep up his façade as the unfazed, disinterested teacher of his. He was still so young, so unaware of the cruelty the world could offer, and he didn't want to dip his little feet into the stream for he couldn't tell how deep it really was.

He hated the thought of drawing relief by his fear.

"Two months, eh?"

That was all they had before they were going to come for him? Bah! Scratch that! Why did he have to obey the one who didn't have a minute of his time for him? The only time John would comply with the Royal Orders was when the freaking King—his Father himself would knock on that door and beg for his son to return.

"Don't think too much on it, John." Ever so dismissive, Paul was. "You need to rest."

Perhaps, he was growing bored of staying, seated on a chair that was barely comfortable. Perhaps, he had the right to leave the Prince to his own dilemma.

Did he feel good at the thought of giving the Squire freedom to decide? Not really. For a moment, he was heeding Paul's advice, his friend, his brethren's words that being selfish was alright sometimes.

He was taking his chance now.

"You're staying, right?"

He met the gaze of hazel.

"No.. I left a moment ago, and now I've returned."

John rolled his eyes.

"How do you intend... to pay for that?" He challenged, not minding if Paul backed out or took him on.

"By sitting here until you personally kick me out of here."

He smiled, noticing that he meant every word.

"I'll be watching out for that.. John Lennon has the power to see when his eyes are closed."

As his eyes drooped to close, he heard Paul huff.

"Oh, I'm sure of that. Goodnight John."

He was drifting fast under the younger boy's soft touch, hearing him hum gently as the small gust of wind. If John was asked why he had a lingering dread etched deep inside of him, he wouldn't be able to offer an answer satisfactory. With the way Paul had never put him beneath his own needs, he couldn't give a coherent, logical answer as to why he was so scared of having him leave.

Yet, no kind word could give him the surety that he would stay.

Drained dry by the damned fever, he fell into a dream.

As John's consciousness returned to him in steps in slow motion, his lids fluttered as he opened his eyes, seeing only the translucent maroon curtains over his head and around the walls of his bed. He insisted those goddamn nylon rags be removed, but when he crunched the numbers and checked how much it cost to have this stupidly expensive bed, he made sure it remained in its best shape.

At least, if he leaves, she could sell it to regain what she had spent.

His body refused to move as if weights were tying him down, imprisoning him under the caress of feathers and the cuddles of the mattress that held his body. He tried to lift his head to sit up but found that he was unable to do that without causing a disruption.

Oh, right. If he recalled correctly, Paul should still be here, sitting on that chair next to him, one hand in his, and the other on his forehead. Yep, John was still half-asleep if he had to glance to the side to see that he hadn't left, to see those stretched arms reaching for him even in his sleep.

Turning his head to face the little teacher of his, he smiled at him. When he was not playing the authoritative, placid and tranquil teacher who only smiled if necessary or made sure John was in good shape, he really was an adorable little kid. Well, not a kid, but he still wasn't an adult until the next couple of years. Head facing the ground, the boy took in long breaths, completely phased out. John could swear that no sound could shake him awake, even if the boy's arms fall at his sides, he wouldn't notice a thing.

Then again... saying that Paul was oblivious to any change in the atmosphere would be the same as calling him a stranger. There was no way he wouldn't catch onto a disruption, even a small change in John's breathing would rouse him awake in concern, checking if the Prince was well or worse for wear.

John was just glad he stayed, though he started to think that the poor guy's back and neck must be suffering with his selfish request.

'No hair off my head', he could hear Paul reassure him over and over again, telling him this was nothing compared to what he could possibly face in the future as close as turning a leaf.

The window was still open, John presumed it was to allow the cool air to offer some comfort when Paul's hands lost its cool. He hated how his body couldn't make up its mind. One hour he was freezing like the North-pole's icebergs, in complete disbelief when Paul exclaimed that he was burning like a furnace. The next hour he was exactly as Paul said, and got a response that now he was frigid as the winter chills.

It was awful enough that they were still braving the Summer heat.

Maybe Paul wanted him to burn so that he'd be free from his obligations. That made sense.. John would've done that if he was forced to give up his own comforts for a demanding Prince.

....Gosh, he really had to stop thinking that way, projecting himself onto Paul like that, painting him as someone he was not.

Paul's hands were the only soothing presence he needed. After all, the wind didn't bother showing up to help him. What could he have expected in this season to begin with. Nothing but more heat to burn him like a sausage on a stick, touching the flames of the gas stove.

"Ey Paulie, you awake?"

Why did he bother waking him up? If he was sleeping, then he should let him be. He deserved that much for all that he was doing for him.

John heaved a sigh. What was going to gain from waking up his little teacher? Nothing but a furrowed brow over the fact that he was still unwell. What was the use of letting him know about that?

Now, he hoped the lad was still asleep and not pretending—or trying to catch some shut eye before he has to deal with John again.

His eyes then caught sight of a glass that sat on the night-table beside him. Paul definitely put that there, or Aunt Mimi. He remembered the little teacher of his advising him to keep himself hydrated as illness attacked best when the body was vulnerable.

Would he be able to drink it without having it all spill over him? Unfortunately, now was a time where he had to remove that hand off his forehead. He had to move Paul away from him so he could sit up and take the stupid glass put for him.

As if on cue, felt those hands shift. In a careful motion, the hand slid off his forehead and slipped onto his lap. His other hand was still held by John, and the Prince made no step to draw it away. With that, he pressed his hands on the mattress to lift himself up, making sure the hand that held Paul's were not pushing too much.

Accomplishing that, he was about to reach for the glass that sat next to Paul when he jumped, almost letting out a shriek. Now, John does not 'let out a shriek', that was something Aunt Mimi was accustomed to doing, he wasn't the screaming kind, nor was he the one who flinched easy.

But he did almost flip out when he caught hazel eyes staring down at him. When did he move? How long was he staring down at him as if he was vermin? Golly, John did not expect to be the receiving end of such a glower.

Oh wait, Paul's stare was only cold because he was asleep. He probably just opened his eyes a bit to see if John needed him to move.

"And I thought I was pale..." he muttered, deadpan and snarky for someone as sleep ridden as he. "You're white as a sheet, John."

John couldn't let him take that cake.

"Who wouldn't be when ye stare at me like some Satanist who deserves to burn in Hell?"

At that, Paul's eyes widened. John could still see the puffiness of his upper eyes, but he was trying to give him a better glance.

"Did it appear that way? My apologies." His eyes then shifted to the glass. "You'll probably need some help drinking that, you're still very weak.."

"I'm fine, just don't glare at me like a lab rat."

"A lab rat...?"

John sneered.

"If you're my teacher, then shouldn't ye know something like that?"

"I know the profession of a scientist, but John, I can't possibly glare at you like a lab rat, I've never worked in a lab."

"Thanks for the exposition, Captain Obvious."

Paul only sighed, pressing the glass to John's lips. John only put a hand on the top of the glass, finding a little something more important than drinking in this moment.

"Why did you stay?"

He was met with still sleepy hazel eyes that told him nothing.

"Drink, My Liege."

"Answer me first."

Paul furrowed his brows.

"So you could call me Captain Obvious again?"

"Why would I?"

"Because you already know why."

"Tell me why~" he sing-songed, and Paul heaved another sigh. He probably wanted to be back in the realm of sleep.

"Because you told me, alright?"

"Is that really it?"

"And because if I disobey you, there's no telling what you'd do."

"What could sicky wicky ol' John do?"

"You're sick, yes, but let's not forget you were getting a little too interested in spanking just two days ago."

"Was I really?"

Paul rolled his eyes. "At this point, I do wonder if you've already recovered."

"I'll only be cured if a sweet ol' teachy gives me a kissy."

"Not this again.. John, just drink or I'll dump it on you."

Oh, now that was something. John couldn't help but grin in disbelief.

"You wouldn't dare."

"I would, and I'm about to."

"I'll drink, happy now, teachy?"

"Until you do, yes."

John gasped in disbelief but removed his hand from the rims of the glass to allow Paul to tip it. With his shaky hands, he really would've dropped the glass the moment he caught hold of it. It must've been sheer luck that he annoyed Paul enough to wake him up. When the contents of the glass were completely gone, only then Paul set it down and pressed a hand on John's chest to lay him back on the bed.

"Ta' Paulie."

"Try to sleep, John. You're not too warm, but I'll need to get you more water, and some food to give you some energy."

"Meems could take care of that, just stay."

"When Aunt Mimi is not around to do that, then what? You can't possibly tell me to stay and ignore your body's suffering."

John really was not up for debating with him, but damn, was his teacher so adamant on standing his ground at times?

"Just stay, please...?"

He hated to plea, but it was the only moment when the stern, dead set upon his goals Paul backs down. Now was an example of that.

"Promise to eat when you wake up, John."

"Cross m' heart and hope to die."

"Don't hope to die."

"It's an expression, Macca. Just an... expression."

\--

Unfortunate for the Squire, the Aunt and the Prince, his condition had been going up and down, better then worse, then regular, then back down as if he was in a downward spiral of some sort. Worse was how they were beginning to catch the illness he had contracted.

In short, they all almost had the influenza.

Aunt Mimi's were the one that the Squire began to fear the most for. They just got through the hurdle of her arranged re-marriage, and now she was falling ill? At least with John, he could stay in Mendips Fortress, keeping him away from others who could worsen it, and the only people who could catch it from him were Paul and Aunt Mimi.

But hey, at least they were all not lying in bed, wondering when the end will come, wishing they had strength to stand. They were still quite alright: John was his usual self, causing trouble for himself and the two, Paul just teaching him and sometimes playing along his shenanigans, and Aunt Mimi going and returning from work and spending time with the kids who were now almost adults.

Well, John was in a couple of days, Paul still needed a couple of years.

At this current moment, the Squire and the Aunt were chatting in the kitchen, while the Prince was seated in the living room, by the Squire's beloved instrument, pressing keys aimlessly while singing lyric-less songs.

"Tomorrow, they'll be coming at our door?"

"That would be a plan. They've been asking of John's progress for a while now."

In the Squire's hands were letters that were sent by the Kingdom—unbeknownst to the Prince. There seemed to be a mutual agreement that he didn't have to see what his father had to say. There was nothing positive about it, so the Aunt and the Squire kept it to themselves.

It was pretty much the same as telling him word to word what His Majesty wrote. It wasn't even by his hand, what reason did they have to let John know about it?

"What are they going to do to him?"

All he could answer was in uncertainty.

"I don't really know. If they don't approve of him... I don't want them to hurt him."

"Surely, they won't send him back here..."

"God, I wish they would." Hearing the Squire make such a statement reminded Aunt Mimi that he too, didn't want to undergo this process of getting the Prince to the Kingdom where he will be unwelcomed. "They'll probably kill us."

"Would I be able to reach you both?" they couldn't possibly just disconnect after all those years, act like Aunt Mimi never existed.. that was just wrong.

"If we're lucky, we could visit. I think they're going to limit us to letters."

"This place will be lonely without you little boys."

At Aunt Mimi's little smile, Paul returned it wryly.

"You could try inviting someone to live here.."

Then she raised a brow.

"What do you mean? Who would need to be here?"

Paul hesitated, wondering if it was a good idea to have it mentioned, but... once he suggested it, he might as well tell her.

"John's Mother."

And there, like the Prince, came her barrage of questions.

"Julia? You've seen her? How is she?"

"Yes, met her once, and she was.. alright." Was she really alright? From the looks of it, she was alright as any woman who had received threats and were unsure what they could really do.

"When did you meet her? Did John see her?"

"Two months ago.. and we tried to invite her here, but she refused, saying she couldn't."

"Quite peculiar.." she tapped her chin with a finger, "does she know you and John live here?"

"We tried to tell her that, but she kept saying that His Majesty forbid her from seeing John."

"Has he now? That bastard really is becoming a thorn in our side." Clicking her tongue, she turned her gaze away, keeping Paul from seeing her seethe about the man who he claims has given him another chance at life.

"John feels the same way. Makes me wonder how he's going to let them take us away tomorrow."

"They're taking you tomorrow?" the lack of strength in her tone told Paul enough of how she felt about the two leaving her. Sorrow, dread, loss.. she was losing more of her family as time went on.

Before Paul could answer, John's voice boldly came through.

"No way are they going to take us tomorrow. They can gripe and whine all day, we're not leaving tomorrow."

"How could you be so sure...?"

"I'm the Prince! I get to decide what I want on my own terms. Daddy-kins doesn't control my life until he really shows up tomorrow. I want him on his knees, pleading for me to return."

Aunt Mimi gave him a smile, but the sentiment wasn't shared by Paul.

"That's bold and all, but they could just tear the door down and take us by force."

"They won't dare. It's not an effective move to protect the public, Paulie."

"But it is a move to get what they want."

To that, John simply smiled, long and confident.

"They'll just have to sit with not getting what they want."

And true to his word, he had them ignore every form of message that came their way when it was time to bring John to the Castle. To Paul's surprise, His Majesty was not very concerned of his son's insolence, he only sent a letter stating that he expected that his training was not complete, but they only had till the beginning of the next year to have it all done. Oh, and it was a wise move that the Squire did not bring the Prince in his sickly state.

It was the only letter Paul showed John, to give him a last laugh. To show that for once, he was victorious against his damned father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, thank you all for over 400 hits~


	12. A New Horizon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh gosh, a friend of mine introduced me to "Imposter Syndrome" and it was a stab to the gut. People always called it modesty when I said my achievements were dumb luck, or that I didn't believe in my supposed strengths. For all the things I like to research about, I didn't know this was a thing! Bloody accurate it is to everything I do.  
> Even now, it does come around. I worry if I am pinching stuff from others and claiming it's my own even though I am not doing that. At least.. try not to do that.
> 
> \- The hint of Paul's "last name" comes from the fact that his Mother's name had Patricia in it. I read that in the Wikipedia while searching her maiden name.  
> \- Non-verbal communication somehow catches my eye. There's something very elegant about a story that has no dialogue, but understanding is all around it. There was a story I read on livejournal, I believe it was called "Not a word". It's so well-written.  
> \- Lastly, apologies for a short chapter, it's a little hard to get around this.

\--

Alas! Victory, why has life made you so short-lived?

Why is victory only a blink of an eye, rather than a scar that one could view at any given time with proud puffs of their chests, with big smiles and reeling that feeling in their veins, so vigorous and jittery? Suppose it is the same as a smile, fleeting and elusive as it comes.

John couldn't put a smile of Aunt Mimi or Paul's in a jar and stare at it without it losing the beauty of the truth in it. With victory, it was no different. If Paul gave him a gold medal that listed his achievements, it was the same as the empty smile in the jar.

It loses meaning over the passage of time.

It was almost the start of the new year, the time when the two children have to leave home. John could tell that the younger boy was rattled with nerves, finding urgency in his every step in a stark contrast to the breathy pace he usually conducted his work. The way his teacher would simply rest his little hand on his when John was eager to stuff as much as he could in his brain, shaking his head and with gentle care told him it was enough started to leave with the seasons passing.

At this moment, Paul would be teaching him the necessities without trip-ups. Not that he was distracted when he introduced John to the different stuff he needed in order for this day, it just seemed a little... lighter. Even with his losing vision, he could see clear as transparent glass that Paul used to teach him lighter since they had a lot of time to mull it over. It wasn't imperative that he remember all that he taught the instant the lesson concluded knowing that it was impossible for it to stay for years and years ahead.

Now he felt Paul's scrutiny all over him, and any goof-up he makes, he will take note. His big doe eye would twitch involuntarily, and he would gnaw upon his lower lip then finally give a wry smile, hoping John didn't notice his disappointment. Unfortunate for the two of them, it wasn't hard to miss.

John had a close eye upon seeking approval. If he made a mistake, oh he'll know the instant. If he were to be asked if he could manage on his own, he would give an instant shake of his head, sulking that on his own, Paul would not be there to give that sweet encouraging smile and that that little nod of his head, urging him to continue. If Paul was not there, all eyes were upon him, stripping him naked and ripping through his skin, dying to see the shivering soul underneath it all.

Paul's approval kept him going. That nod, that smile, the marvel in those eyes... he needed Paul to stay by him at all times. He never told his teacher how frightened he truly was about a) returning, and b) successfully courting the supposed woman he is arranged to. If he had a bird by his side, if his duties pile in too much, that would mean lesser time with Paul.

There would _be_ no Paul time if his love was in his arms. He wasn't sure if he was ready for that.

He told Paul not a word about this, having the knowledge that his teacher too, was nervous for him. Not that John was terrible, but Paul's gut was a strong existence. Those guts have seen what they needed to, wishing that he could ease the burden off the Prince when he usurps the Throne. John was not ready for all the heartache that sitting that Iron Throne would give, he was not prepared to sever ties if his position ordered it.

Perhaps, it was all too soon to make judgments upon. It's as they say, they never know unless they try. John and Paul should not make judgments based on something they have yet to walk into—for all Paul knows, John could flourish pretty well. He could own the position as if he was born to be the biggest Prince ever lived. He might not even need a second of Paul's time for all he knew.

What was he to be when John didn't need him? Was he ready to leave it all behind once the King announces his work to be complete?

He too, refused to sit down and speak to John about it.

Unlike John who was going to his Aunt about it, Paul stuffed it in a sack and threw it over early in the morning.

\--

The day was spent without a single word.

Aunt Mimi stayed in the Fortress as all forms of work were closed for the night to celebrate the birth of another year. Her only duty for the day was making sure the boys were not leaving the place. Under His Majesty's decree, they were to stay inside so that they may be picked up and taken to the Kingdom. There was to be no objection to his order, no matter how unprepared or uneasy they were about it.

The Prince was in his room, quietly being dolled up by his teacher. Every button that was upon his clothes were embellished with the finest gold, the material a fine silk that he was not accustomed to wearing, finding it sliding on his skin uncomfortably. Deep crimson was the cape that was the younger lad's hands, who was deciding where to put it while he was dressing the Prince. His cotton wrist bands were removed, replaced with silk white gloves upon his hands and crimson cuff-links, dangling with gold rims and buttons that cost a fortune to a working class person such as Aunt Mimi.

He fiddled with the collar constricting his neck like a mad man strangling the life out of him to rob him blind. Upon doing that, he cast a frown upon his teacher who let out a sigh, straightening it up before closing the distance between the two sides of the collar. John met his eyes, hoping he would know that the stupid thing was killing him, needing those doe eyes to see that the collar was doing him no good all closed up like that.

The Squire answered by parting the button from the hole, giving a small smile. The Prince saw him kneel, pulling the tunic down to avoid the existence of air bubbles within the fabric before fastening a belt upon it. The belt too, was of a shiny leather, black and accented with little rubies and silver buckles. It was worse than the stupid tunic he wore, all crimson with gold laces in the middle, poofy sleeves and cufflinks he was ready to tear off.

It was clothes like these that had too conscious of his movement. What if he waves his hand wrong and the seams tear out? Or if he picks something to eat, only to have it squirt on his chest?

He knew there was no way out of it, so he kept it to himself, giving the Squire only a frown for him to understand. And he understood all, just as always. He was only doing his job that he was required to do.

The Prince's eyes stayed upon him, watching him as he continued, strapping a gold chain around one of his arms by linking it to the gold shoulder pad, lifting his sleeves onto to dress it with more jewelry. Gosh, he really felt like a walking gold mine with a sign that had bold letters, 'Rob me!". How much could the town gain from these trinkets they waste upon Royals to make them feel better about themselves? Surely, there would be no existence of a poor man if they were given their fair share.

He was tempted to rip them off his arms like a vampire screeching from the silver of the cross, but he knew that would earn a glower from his teacher who was putting the effort to make him as presentable as he possibly could. A first glance at him had to scream Prince. There was no other option.

The Squire was only doing what he was supposed to, but the Prince couldn't help but fiddle around. It was too discomforting, too much unlike him, too.. dolled up. This was something he expected his teacher to be wearing, accentuating the beauty of his existence with that lovely smile of his, those manners he carried with him that hadn't lowered even once.

Paul should've been the one dolled up like a Prince, and he should've been the one dressing him up. They would've liked Paul better, the clothes would've fit his rather slender body better, and his pale skin would've complemented great with the gold and crimson that he was currently flushed in.

Not like John whose auburn hair and slightly darker skin drowned in. They could call him a scarlet stick and he would lower all his fingers, even the middle that begged to stand out. They wouldn't be wrong.

Paul must've heard those words out loud. John saw the lad shake his head, straightening himself up and pulling the cape from the chair he hung it on, giving John a smile, eyes lowered in a mocking manner. He wasn't calling John a fool, he wasn't mocking John for his lack of respect or any of the sort, it was a smile that told him, "bear with it". A smile that was judging him for the silly thought of him being a suitable Prince.

The cape added to the heaviness he wasn't used to. Often, he had robes of pale hues or ones of deeper shades, but they didn't fall under his feet as this did, and they were not of a thick material as this was. At least, it wasn't all red and gold, it was a long black cape with the inside of the violet like the amethyst pins on his chest. The long robes were clasped together by a brooch of a large amethyst orb, round and bright yet deep in its rich hue.

When his teacher put it together, he gave a softer smile to the Prince, melting his heart into a mushy mess. God, he was so cute. Whoever ended up with the lad were going to be the luckiest person existing. The same couldn't be said about the teacher, despite his interest in those fairy-tales that stood in the shelves, he didn't have much of a heart for romance.

They would've all over each other's faces, kissing like hungry rabbits if that were the case. John could retell every count where he asked Paul to give him a kiss somewhere, and whenever he received one, it was never upon the lips. It was never a lover's kiss that he was given, no.. not at all.

It was always on the forehead, like a parent to a child. Paul's soft lips had always blessed his forehead, and that was why John had put the effort to keep his hair away from his brow. Even when his hair did come all over his face, Paul would simply swipe them like curtains with his two first fingers and give him a kiss above, then let the stands return.

Sometimes, John just wanted to smash the chubby cheeked face into his, but he's seen the hesitation in Paul's eyes, the dismissive shakes of his head when it came to John's romantic adventures. Any time John suggested something romantic, Paul would patch it up by explaining that he would only do it if it helped John learn for his future bride.

He almost proposed to him, and he was rejected by a nervous Paul. He's seen the hurt in his eyes when he refused John's advances, and the Prince believed it was only because they were still children, he was advising against impulsive decisions—he was keeping him from making a mistake he would regret in the future.

Just a little longer, and then they would be able to be together for real. John began to revel at that thought.

Just then, Paul began to pace around the room, searching for something John wasn't sure about. He couldn't possibly be putting more clothes on his body—he's been flooded by layers and layers, they were not going into war, so there wasn't a need for armour, was there?

He saw Paul click his tongue and shake his head, finding what he was looking for to be redundant, returning to face him. John's heart skipped a beat when he eyed the comb that he gave Paul for his eleventh birthday in his hand, brushing down the curly bangs that were all over the place. He didn't know Paul still had that little guy, having given it so long ago—but that lad was always the kind who kept whatever he got very, very close and in good care.

He remembered that little ring that Richie gave all his friends to put on their pinky fingers—the symbol of their friendship, he called it. It almost never left Paul's right pinky.

Brushing his hair and sweeping it to the side, he slot the comb back onto his breast-pocket, ruffling those auburn bangs. John figured it might've an excuse to touch his hair, soft and flaming red, as Paul put it. He's always hated how fiery and pathetic his hair was, showing his heart straight into those strands, but refused to shank it off since Paul's eyes often glimmered at the sight of it.

And golly, whenever Paul gazed at him, he felt like the most handsome being on this earth.

John reached for his hand to envelope in his own. Even though his teacher was no eight year old anymore, his hands were still smaller than his, more demure than his longer and wider hands that could bruise with a hard punch. Paul was thinner, but he did have a centimeter over John, still cute and innocent while John grew firm and with almost a perpetual frown.

When he grinned, it was an adorable cat-like smile that spread all over his face. Playful and fun, his smiles were the kind that one would want to have a hearty laugh with. Perhaps, that was why Paul often got into small chuckles when he saw that grin of his. When he was truly smiling, it was small and shy, and times like those, he wouldn't know he's smiling until he received one from Aunt Mimi or Paul's eyes widen in amazement.

_Stay with me_ , he pleaded with his hand, and his teacher snuck his hand from in between the pinky and ring finger, clasping his fingers around the last finger of his with a soft smile.

_I won't go anywhere without you,_ he answered back.

\--

They wrote and serenaded their Aunt moments before the Royal Vassal appeared to escort them. Not wanting to make it a moment where they would shed tears, they let it be a moment where they were back to an earlier time where the thought of the two leaving was not part of the equation.

John was given a silver locket by his Aunt. It was a small oval shaped piece, and John kept it close to his chest, contemplating to tuck it under his tunic in case his father threatens to have it removed. He was not going to have his damned father interfere into his personal business. If he couldn't approve of Aunt Mimi, it meant nothing to John since he loved his Aunt dearly.

His father has done enough harm, trying to separate them and all.

They read stories sitting on either side of their Aunt, picking from book to book, sipping a blend of crushed cocoa beans and milk like children. And for a moment, they did feel like children with their favourite relative. Everything was simple for those couple of hours before John and Paul had to leave. Soft and simple as they wanted, and yet no words were spoken between them—no serious word about their fears, about their doubts, about possibilities—nothing.

It was a moment to bask in the silence, in the nothingness of their lives. A firm and complete escape from it all.

But as life was a short-lived existence, so was their little sphere of isolation. Soon, the Prince and his teacher heard callous banging of the door, and their Aunt heaved a sigh.

The three stood up in one swift motion, silence putting an effort to continue lingering in the air as they faced one another. Finding neither of them making a move, their Aunt invited the boys into am embrace, spreading her arms as far as they could go. The two didn't take a second to think, allowing themselves to be in the protective arms of Aunt Mimi. They murmured prayers, well-wishes from their Aunt who held their confidence since they couldn't carry it upon their shoulders.

"I know you will do splendidly, both of you."

"Thank you for bringing a home to me, Aunt Mimi." The teacher buried his face on her shoulder, by the shake and shrink of his body, she knew he was holding back his tears. The Prince's hands were tightly clenching on her back and around his teacher, gnawing his lip and putting all effort to keep back a scowl at the thought of going to his father, His Majesty.

"I know neither of you want to go, but someone has to get that old coot off that Throne, and I can't see anyone else do it but my boy, John."

It was then John spoke.

"And I'll kick him real hard, he'd be feeling it in the afterlife."

"Then you better hop to it. Enough of this soft mush!"

While John moved the instant she playfully scolded them, Paul kept his face on her shoulder like a small puppy reluctant to say goodbye to their master who treated them very well. He really must've been a dog, having to live his life in full loyalty to His Highness John.

Now it was simply the moment he's been training him for. He shouldn't be so down-hearted over what could be his long-awaited time for freedom, to be off the restraints for his job concludes today. Yet.. Paul had grown so close to Aunt Mimi and John, he didn't want to ever part ways from them. The boy was growing into a wonderful Prince, and he was happy to serve him—even if he was once a Prince to be served.

If he was still Prince, it would've been great to have an alliance between the states. Paul being the Prince for the Irish, and John for the British. Hazza and Richie could be part of their Vassal—not their slaves, but a duke of some sort. Aunt Mimi would've been with John as his attendant and moral advisor.

The question was, who would've taught John if it wasn't Paul?

Perhaps not something to wonder about.

The knocks on the door increased, causing the Squire to shift from the comforting arms of their Aunt, heading to the door and beckoning John to follow him. When the Prince stood behind, he pulled the door open.

"Greetings Sir."

There were two tall men who were at the door to whom Paul gave a polite bow to, body bending halfway and keeping his eyes on the ground. John simply raised a brow at the two.

The two didn't really have the gruffness of a Knight. No beards, scraggy hair or teeth missing, no messy clothes with tons of metal armour that could crush Paul's head with a single punch. No cruel and imposing figures they carried.

No, they simply bowed back and gave the boy a sweet smile. The one in the front was shorter than the man at the back and had light curling brown hair, swept to the side and dressed in a black formal wear. On his face was a gentle smile, soft, demure features that contrasted greatly with the image John had in his mind. This man had elegance written all over him, and an odd tenderness that had him believe he was unfit to be a Knight.

"Our greetings to you too, Your Highness and his attendant."

The man behind the shorter man had nothing short of the soft handsomeness the man in the front had. Taller and thinner, he stood tall, hair slicked back his head and with an expressionless face, but with a glance that was caring and yet authoritative. Rather than strict and imposing, he was observing the two who were to be escorted to the Kingdom.

"Sir Epstein.." apparently Paul knew who this man was, "and Sir Martin. Are you two the ones sent by His Majesty to escort His Highness John?"

The man nodded, affirmative with a smile that didn't dim.

"Indeed. I'm surprised you do remember us," it was then his smile shifted to a wry one, "but unfortunately, the same cannot be the said about you. His Majesty hadn't informed us of your name."

_Wow, Epstein's polite, at least. Guess every noble talk like Paulie._

"I go by Paul, Sir Epstein," Paul seemed to falter, "my surname is a maiden's name."

"Is it a maiden name of your Mother?"

Another falter. John saw Paul swallow a lump in his throat before shaking his head.

"Brian, I believe it matters not who he is, he is simply His Highness' teacher." The other man, Sir Martin, stepped in, perhaps noting the inability to give immediate answers. "He is to be escorted with him to continue their lessons."

"I know George, I just wanted to ask to create some familiarity, he knows us!" John raised a brow when he saw Sir Epstein speak so openly as if they were not taking two people from their family and were going to a place where they would be viewed as mascots, as animals in a zoo, but people. Friends to be made, children to be cared for, not subjects.

_That's actually kinda refreshing, compared to all the horror tales Paulie told me._

"Sir Paul and Your Highness, my name is George Martin, and this is Brian Epstein. It is with great honour that we inform you, we are the Retainers of His Highness John." Sir Martin murmured an apology for creating an awkward atmosphere, and Paul quickly forgave them in fear of messing up. John was waiting to let out that he was surprised that they're not as big wankers as he thought they'd be, but with the way Paul was on the last set of his nerves, he managed to hold it inside.

"May you both please accompany us."

The two stepped out of the Fortress, following the two Knights who led them to the Royal Carriage. It wasn't very different from a regular carriage, just more decorative—which John found to be a big eye-roller, finding that the people have wasted beautiful resources on something as useless as a pretty carriage.

"Have no fear, these are made to protect His Highness. It won't be overtaken easy."

Sir Epstein must've been answering Paul's never-ending concerns, as John was sure he wasn't going to address that. He just wanted to complain at the foolishness of the craftsmanship upon it.

Finding it odd to be so quiet, he decided to speak up.

"Mr. Epstein," he felt Paul and Sir Epstein's gazes upon him, "how's this different from any other carriage?"

Couldn't be any better, just worse with all the fancy designs slapped upon it. It was screaming to be stabbed by onlookers, to be ransacked and destroyed, its parts to be sold for a good amount of currency. It couldn't possibly be safer!

Paul's gaze was wide with concern, almost telling him to watch his words, but John couldn't really care.

"It's just all dolled up like I am, it doesn't seem safer to be in than the ones in the market."

And by the way Sir Epstein's brows rose, John wanted to laugh very hard. The way Sir Epstein turned to glance at his companion with those eyes, both rather surprised at his rather flippant nature, he wanted to laugh even more.

With the way Paul frowned as if he was counting the remaining hours he has to live, all consideration to laugh came to a halt. John couldn't be bothered to laugh then.

"He's right, y'know."

But that honest approval by Sir Martin had it rekindled.

"What really is the difference? It's not cloth but a metallic cart."

"That's it, pretty much."

"I don't suppose it has weapons stashed within it."

"Other than the ones on our waist, nope."

"His Highness is a sharp one."

"Very observant, his teacher prepared him, that's for sure."

"Yet, I can't help but think his teacher's younger than him, how could he have...?"

"Prodigies, you have to love them."

Watching their exchange, John had to have a glance at Paul. How was the young teacher taking in all this new information? He needed to know.

And happy to know, Paul was just as flabbergasted as Sir Epstein and Sir Martin. John gave him a little grin and Paul resisted to roll his eyes.

"We're lucky they're polite, John." He whispered to him, finding the two Knights caught in their own world. They waited for the two to return.

"Don't mind them, they mean well."

Another voice had the two darting their gaze in the direction of it. It was the chauffeur who was—to both their astonishment, appeared no older than John and Paul. He could've been younger for all they knew.

"My name's Neil. Neil Aspinall."

"Nice to meet'cha, Neil, Neil Aspinall." John deadpanned, earning an incredulous gasp from Paul, who paled even more than usual.

_I am so dead._ His dread spoke up, showing on his face.

"You're our Prince-to-be, aren't ye? It's an honour to be in your presence!"

"Yeah yeah," a hand ran down the back of the Prince's head, itching the discomfort. "Just keep it casual, Neil Neil. I'm not exactly Prince yet."

"Ah, it's just Neil, Sire."

"Just Neil? Alright Just Neil, take us to the Castle safely, eh?"

Paul was wiping imaginary sweat off his brow. _We are so dead._

"C'mon Paulie, let's board this thing, we can trust Just Neil."

Paul was almost praying to every holy being to just spare them this one moment. He has trained John as much as he could humanly do, let this not be an instant where it all crumbles. He was not an idiot... he hadn't wasted a second of his life for this. He has done all he could, didn't he?

"Just Neil?" yet he asks the silliest of things in the midst of finding his mind beating itself up.

"Yes, Paulie. Please don't tell me ye don't need your ears checked."

Ignoring John's retort, he went to the chauffeur.

"Sir Aspinall, greetings to you," he took a glance to the side before continuing, "had they provided a reason as to why they've enslaved a child to drive the Royal Carriage?"

Neil's eyes widened at Paul's question, and John raised a brow.

"Oh no, Sir Paul. It's nothing like that! They pay me really well, that's why I'm happy to do this."

The frown on the Squire deepened with a lower of his eyes.

"But a mere child..."

"You're in the same boat, aren't you?" his tone lowered to keep it between the two, but with the way Paul's body had an involuntary spasm, it told John it was something lingering in the back of his mind.

"A little different circumstance." The boy's gaze flicked to the Retainers once again, "do they make a fool out of you?"

"No Sire, they're very kind. Those two at least."

"Yes.. you've told us earlier that they mean well.. Sir Aspinall, is there any such person that I should keep His Highness from?"

"Oh yes, there is one that would be good to keep him from." Before he could give his answer, Paul brought a finger to his own lips.

"They're returning. Let us correspond a different time."

Sir Aspinall smiled brightly, nodding eagerly. It was a great contrast to Paul's distant and cautious stance.

"Sure! It's great to know the guy who's been with His Highness."

It wasn't noticeable by the way the teacher gave the two Retainers a polite nod, but John sensed how the air around him closed off. That guarded air that he carried around him the first time he's met him resurfaced at the sight of Sir Epstein and Sir Martin, and the Prince couldn't help but frown at that. It filled him with endless joy to have his teacher step out of that shell he buried himself in, and to see it return...

"Our apologies, let us be off."

John had to admit, he did like the fact that Sir Epstein smiled often.

"And fear not, Your Highness. On us are the fine blades that will protect the two of you from any unwanted guest."

He really was trying to be polite with them, wasn't he? Really trying to be friends with them rather than have a formal, unwelcoming relationship of Vassal and Prince. There was a possibility that they feared death. They didn't want to be set aside as expendables.

Sitting with that pessimism, he beckoned Paul to sit with him in the carriage. Unlike the carriage that they had when they went to the Square, this carriage had seats that faced each other, so there was a lesser chance of privacy when there were two Knights watching the Prince and his teacher as they sat.

"Claustrophobic..." John murmured to himself, and Sir Martin raised a brow.

"Is it not to your taste? It is quite spacious."

"So spacious I can feel both of you bearing holes into our heads!"

His teacher buried his face in his palms.

"Pardon us, it's rather exciting to see the one we've long waited for." Sir Epstein jumped in, a complete opposite to the reaction Paul just had. As his teacher was begging for death to string him along the neck and snap him apart, Sir Epstein was brightened with the light of life, joyous beyond measures John couldn't understand.

Why was he so happy to see him?

Sir Martin may have not had the face for it, but John could feel that the sentiment was shared.

John find himself smiling soon after.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why were you waiting for me?"

"Because you will be the one who carries on after His Majesty Lennon retires."

Paul finally chimed in, devoid of any emotion.

"He can't possibly be retiring any day sooner."

Sir Martin smiled at him. "You are correct. First, he would want to evaluate the Prince."

"Ah, I should've studied." John commented without a single thought, and he could've sworn Paul was going to break down and cry this second.

"If he passes well, he would be granted power to make decisions and act on His Majesty's behalf, but it would be subject to the Advisor's discretion." Sir Martin continued as if John hadn't said a word.

"Must I ask of the length of this evaluation?"

"My apologies Sir Paul, but I am not aware to the exact day or time for it, but it would be a couple of months' work."

"No no, it is out of my place to ask, my apologies to you, Sir Martin." At least Paul did not have the image of death staring at him anymore.

"No need. I am curious myself as to what the evaluation would be carried out."

At the thought of being tested for his knowledge, John drew to himself. He didn't want to let Paul down by making a mistake too great and earning the thumbs down from His Majesty, as much as he wanted to irritate him. He didn't want to disappoint Paul nor Aunt Mimi.

But he didn't want to carry forward with this either. It was a tug of war in his heart and mind, one side pulling to succeed, and the other pulling to fail. He wanted to fail so that they could stay with Aunt Mimi and wouldn't be bothered to inherit the Throne he didn't want, but he wanted to succeed to shove it in his father's face that the man who cast him aside was now on the receiving end of that shove.

He wanted to bury his father's name.

Wanted to rid of his legacy, destroy all that he has made.

Right, he couldn't forget that was his plan. His plan that Paul had no information on but provided enough fuel.

John felt a hand brush his knee, fingers softly rubbing circles onto him. Of course, Paul didn't miss how he curled to himself, sulking. His gaze stood facing Sir Epstein and Sir Martin, keeping them from giving heed to John's state. John sensed nothing but determination in those hazel eyes, so resolute he couldn't cast a glance anywhere else.

"His Highness will succeed, beyond a shadow of a doubt."

John straightened up with a smile. He really wouldn't be able to do anything without Paul's support.

"You should have confidence in him," Sir Martin smiled, and Sir Epstein added, "you've taught him, after all."

"Yes, but there is only much a child could teach..."

"It would be enough for his next steps."

Despite Paul's encouragement, John could understand the deep-rooted uncertainty in his heart. He already shown his loose tongue the moment he saw the two Knights. He was pushing that to the back of his mind seeing how they didn't mind his openness to his speech. He knew Paul was worried about the possible scenarios that could happen to him if he makes a mistake.

His teacher's hand didn't leave his knee, glancing at the windows next to him as the two Knights decided they needed to keep an eye out for outsiders to keep the children calm. As they've mentioned the fact that they could be attacked, the Knights figured it was a time to show their talents, a way to get the two to trust them.

John figured there were going to be many times where all he just wants to do is make small talk with Paul but won't be able to do it anymore. He gave his attention to the window as well, laying his hand on top of his.

They had to make a collective effort in order to make it through. If John wanted his plans to come into play, he had to trust Paul more than he ever had, and perhaps rely on his two new Vassal if they prove trustworthy.

He had to try.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading~  
> I'm not usually too open about it, but come chat with me on [Tumblr](https://memento-vivxre.tumblr.com/) (I have a side-blog too, the link is on one of the earlier chapters) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/AmareInMortis) (I doodle there quite a bit)


	13. A Public Viewpoint

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hahah, part II of this whole thing begins. Now, not everything will be bad, no no. There's still going to be funny things happening, just a little less than the not happy moments.  
> I have to admit, this time I had spurts of motivation flying all over the place, unfortunately not for this piece. I almost didn't want to touch this story, but I had more than half of this chapter done earlier the week, so that helped a little.  
> I'm not the most fond of tragedies, but this story is something I need to get out of my system. I do have to remember not to make it too happy.
> 
> Anywho, enough of my venting, hope you enjoy this one. While unmotivated, this is still a baby I want to care for.

****\--** **

Do you ever get the feeling of alienation when you move from one place to another? When what was home has changed into some place new? The need to fill the unfamiliar place with personal elements due to its new wonders appearing like a blank canvas. How could one be comfortable in a surrounding where they aren't sure what starts and where it ends?

John didn't want to have that experience a second time, but here he was.

Where the hell was he supposed to be living in? The Palace of Versailles? The gold that adorned the ground and the rims of the crimson walls, the chandelier that hung over his head in the middle of the room... could he really call it a room? It was a freaking ballroom! His bed was twice as big, probably enough to fit four adults rather than a young boy with silk curtains and blankets matching in material and shades, obsidian cabinets to the left and a tea-table to the right with four seats shy under the table, marble grounds that reflected anything that stepped upon it..

John was missing the claustrophobia of the Royal Carriage once he stepped into this behemoth of his chambers. His room in Mendips Fortress fit him perfectly, but this...? He could've sworn that this was half the Fortress' size in one room alone! If he could touch the ceiling of his old room if he stepped on his bed, this one, he couldn't even touch the chandelier.

The windows stood upon the walls so thin and narrow, he could barely see the outside world in those spaces. What was the use of having so many windows if he couldn't even sit on the sill without having his back facing the glass? Golly, now he knew why they called it a windowpane, it was a mighty pain.

Was this his place of death? It had to be one, that was why it was so well decorated. So that he could die with a smile and they could sigh in relief that their pathetic Prince died in a scenery that rivalled Heaven's grace. Oh how liberating that would be for his subjects.. it put a scowl upon his lips, causing him to gnash his teeth.

They were not going to get rid of him this quickly.

He hated to be alone in this dollhouse. He wanted Paul to be beside him, marvelling every chunk of gold that they wasted upon the place, perhaps tell him how he's never seen such architecture before, being holed up in a small, dingy place of his own. Even if he doesn't, if he huffed and grumbled to John about the privileges he doesn't deserves, he'd be happy to hear it. He'd grab a delicious snack of flaked corn and eat them in one go watching Paul complain.

Which he almost never does.

Where was his teacher anyway? Being tortured in a servant's quarters?

If he was.. oh he was going to beat them up.

\--

When they reached the Kingdom, Sir Epstein and Sir Martin showed them around, going through room to room, hall to hall in the massive structure. Paul once thought Mendips Fortress was pretty large, standing tall for a building with two or few people, but this? This was enormous. It was immersive with the array of rooms and locations that begged for exploration, it would take days to have a good view of everything it encompassed.

The library itself was twenty-hour to survey through, and that was the minimal time with skimming through titles. Paul had never seen so many books in his entire life, not that many to believe that he has only read a quarter that were stacked. He never thought he'd be seeing over two hundred books starting with the letter "A".

It had him think of the Kingdom he was supposed to be residing in—if what happened those eight years didn't happen. If those eight years didn't happen, he would've been bestowed with the highest privilege, drinking out of a cup of silver and rubies, water from the finest spring and wine that envied Christ's blood. He would've had this entire library to himself and rooms where he could have all the instruments he wished for. His parents would be there watching his progress, with proud smiles and kind guidance, his little brother would be following his steps but shove it in his face that he didn't make the same mistakes as he did.

And Paul would argue back that if he didn't make that mistake, there wouldn't be a need to correct it. Think about it, he would've paved the surface for his little brother to make sure not to step into.

But being in his own Kingdom meant no Aunt Mimi who kept their minds from taking them over with that gentle iron fist. Without her consolation, he wouldn't have grown to become one who could naturally hold himself back when fear was trying to eat him up. Without her, he would've been a shivering violet, be unable to deliver his lessons to John in the rather authoritative way he did.

Being snuggled in the warmth of his own home also meant no John. Without John, he wouldn't be able to deal with a meddlesome subject. Not to say that John was a nuisance, no no.. John reminded Paul of what was fun in life. When he forgot the reason to smile, John was who allowed him to reminisce, remember why it was necessary.

He would've been a lot more naïve than he was currently, a lot sensitive, but richer. In that retrospect, what was truly important?

Guilt welled up in him at the thought of choosing which was better. Once again, he dared to compare his loving family to this... artificial family that wasn't truly his. He would never belong to John or Aunt Mimi, they were only taking care of him to keep him around, to be the one who stands in front of John when the whip lashes down, when a rogue points a blade at him, to be the one who takes the blame for his foolishness.

Paul bashed his face on the wall, startling Sir Martin.

"Are you well, Sir?"

It was then Paul remembered that he was still having a tour around the Kingdom with Sir Martin while Sir Epstein waited for John at the door of his chambers. Sir Martin insisted that John take a moment to get his head around his new setting, while he show Paul around to give him a little head start of where he will be. He was certain that the Prince's teacher was going to be by his side at almost every given moment, so he would need to know where all lies.

"My apologies, Sir Martin. I..."

His throat was dry as a desert, refusing to voice out the full sentence, 'I am merely in shock and honour to be stepping the same ground as His Majesty is'. A cheesy one it was, but it was half-true. In a frightening manner, it was an honour to be in the same place as His Majesty, the King Lennon, the unfamiliarity was pouring nausea down his throat like a thirsty man. He was suffocating, he couldn't breathe, and at the same time he was being resuscitated, a new breath pouring his lungs.

"I think it is better if we go for a walk outside, Sir Paul.. you aren't looking too well."

Was it that obvious? When was his expression out in the open and readable by any person?

Sir Martin's stern features had a wry smile, and Paul found himself staring with wide eyes, realizing that he might've been too quick to judge him wrong. When Sir Aspinall informed him of their good nature, he took it with two grains of salt, hooded eyes lowered as he dropped the grains and crushed them with his hands, furthering the specks of that crystallized chemical.

When they gave their attention to the outside scene around them while in the carriage, Paul was waiting for the two to pull up their weapons and threaten him with John's life, their blade pointing at his throat. He awaited for something ill spoken about the Prince due to his abrasive and unrestrained sense of manners.

But when he gazed into those eyes, they were full of concern, one that couldn't lie even if they wanted to. Sir Martin saw him as a shivering little animal, so defensive yet helpless against the relentless world he tried to glare at. Paul was no threat no matter how hard he glowered, how he balled his fist and reached for the dagger on his waist.

And how could he be something to fear about? He couldn't even hold it properly.

"This must've brought too much shock to you."

A hand went to the small of his back, pushing to turn him around away from the heart of the Kingdom. Now Paul would be a fool to think Sir Martin was dismissing him or about to throw him out as an invalid. Those small, care filled eyes saw too much of him, and instead of having a desire to keep him away from the Prince to prevent foolish mistakes, they encouraged that he be with him at all costs.

Even if the world dared him not to.

Sir Martin wanted to assist him, wanted to help him clear his troubled mind. He knew there was too much spinning around it, there was too much overwhelming him, and how he knew? Was his eyes so big and needy? Was he begging to be out of the Castle? Or did he have the image of a child that Sir Martin could not shrug off?

"I was shocked myself when I first set foot here with my da'."

Ah.

There it was.

"You were...?" at this moment, it would've been impolite for Paul to continue offering him silence despite the raw dryness in his throat, scratching the walls irritatingly.

"Yeah, it's bigger than the town Square!"

With a swallow, Paul blinked, finding him smiling small.

"It really is."

"And by pale your skin is, I can tell you haven't gone out much."

Paul poked his cheek. "It's not too pale, is it?"

Sir Martin's smile deepened. "It's not in a bad way."

Paul found himself smiling, teeth slightly baring as his eyes closed. It was a cute attempt to get the nerves down, and in a way, it did work. The thought of the Knight quivering in his boots when his father brought him to the grand Palace, surely would've made a common man a puddle in its presence.

He would so exaggerate to say one would even lose all breath in their lungs if they stood in the same place His Majesty did. Some were not granted such a luxury. Such a luxury Paul would spit upon the ground about—what privilege was standing in front of another man who was simply wealthier than another? He wasn't a God! No less vulnerable to a stab by a blade than any other living, breathing creature.

"May we go outside for a little bit?"

"Of course, I would not have suggested if it we couldn't."

An honest man he was, this Knight. A little too trusting for the first instance, Paul concluded. It was preferable to have a heart so kind it would break into tears at the sight of a vulnerable soul in need, but the bitter taste that lingered upon his tongue swore that he was the kind who would be taken advantage of. Any lie that would spew out of a superior, he would believe. He would obey for fear of his own life or Sir Epstein who was a companion of his.

It didn't matter what level their friendship went, Sir Martin would not endanger any being who stands by him.

Those kinds of men could not say "no" no matter what the situation called. If His Majesty decreed, he would follow to keep his friends in the field. If His Majesty were to order, he would comply. He hadn't a will of his own, he was a perfect puppet, a good plaything, a pass the time, too easy to manipulate.

Paul's eyes widened at his sinister comprehension. Why was he thinking in such a cryptic manner? There was nothing he wanted to do that would require this knowledge, nothing that John was planning to do that would need this tidbit about the Knight. Why was there gasoline lit within his body, this drive to rip off the gold off the walls, carve this marble into a gavel of judgment and smash it down the King's head?

His head crunched, his stomach flared, his heart hurt. God, why was he so petty?

"Sir Paul?"

Glancing up to meet Sir Martin's eyes, he realized they hadn't made a step further. They simply turned around and he entangled himself in the train of thought.

"Sorry, let's.."

\--

Indeed, it was a breath of fresh air to be out of the Palace.

Not because it was a home of pain and misery for himself. It was more difficult for the Prince to be sitting in there alone, cold and unaware of the potential danger that came his way. Paul was afraid on his behalf. Leaving John alone was the same as putting him under the guillotine, all alone with no one to stop the executioner from drawing the rope down and slicing his head off.

He didn't want him to be killed due to his negligence.

For the Squire, it was going to be a walk in the park. There was no actual responsibility he had other than teaching John if necessary. If anything, he could learn how to wield a sword properly. That he hoped Sir Martin didn't mind doing if he requested. He needed to take up lessons if he wanted to physically protect the Prince when he required it.

He knew the Prince had plans that shaped up his Throne, he didn't need to be told of what they were. He was set to support him no matter what happens. That was his promise to Aunt Mimi, to John, to his Mother.

He will not fail to protect the Prince for nothing else mattered.

Sir Martin was currently by his side, hand clutching his sword, and Paul couldn't tell why he hadn't adorned himself with more armour than his breast and knee plates as he's seen Knights often do. Perhaps, it was the awareness of his surrounding that allowed him to dress light, or he was still new to the place.

One thing for sure, Paul would not have known judging by Sir Martin's strong facial features. It was only through the soft dwindle in his voice and those eyes that couldn't tell a lie.

"Sir Martin, for how long have you been in His Majesty's service?"

He didn't really need to know, but it was courtesy to ask about him after he went through the trouble to comfort him by pinning himself lower.

"About six years. I've started when I was twenty."

Paul turned his face to glance at him. "That would mean.."

"I'm twenty-six, yes."

Then he shifted his gaze to the ground.

_He's about a decade older... he only seems like he was four years older. His Majesty's Vassals appear quite young, or he, Sir Epstein and Sir Aspinall are new._

_Can't overstep my boundaries and ask everything on the first day._

"Shall we proceed, Sir Paul?"

Blinking, he nodded.

Upon stepping out of the Castle, it appeared that Paul had no sense of foresight, nothing that came to his mind as to what others are going through, what happens in their everyday lives. He had no idea of the lives of people outside the Prince's. How did they manage to get through their day? What were expected of them?

It seemed there were many holes to his knowledge. And while Paul was not the kind to think he knew a lot, he thought he would be able to connect with the lives of the common folk just a bit. He would be able to identify with them, be classified as the same as them or similar.

But..

Glancing to and fro with Sir Martin, there wasn't the merry jolly people of the Square he's seen years ago with Aunt Mimi and John, where they met the kind vendors and play around with Hazza and Richie. In fact, it was a completely different area altogether. It wasn't Blackpool or Liverpool, but rather the desolate streets of London.

They were so far away from Strawberry Fields which who knows what would've happened to it.

"Sir Martin, I am going to take a walk over there, if that's alright.."

He pointed to the side, unsure if Sir Martin would allow him to go by himself. He wasn't a cruel man, Paul simply needed time to clear his mind without having to rely on the Knight to listen to a pathetic sob-story about nothing he needs to know. He hoped he had enough intolerance to permit him to roam without him.

Sir Martin's kind eyes that met his were telling otherwise, but that same compassion was tapping into resilience. It was no use making the child more uncomfortable than he already was, and he recognized it for he too, was in the same state six years ago.

"I shouldn't leave you alone.. but I can tell you need that solidarity. I'll be around here."

"Thank you, Sir Martin. I won't be long." He smiled at him, truly grateful.

Sir Martin returned his smile before giving a small nod.

"Be back in twenty minutes, if you aren't here, I'll come over."

"Ten is good enough..."

"Twenty at most. You could return whenever, Sir Paul."

The Knight watched the younger Squire grow further and further away from his sight as soon as their agreement was made. He must've had the need to explore as much as he could before he had to be back with the Prince and Sir Epstein who were still inside.

Do you ever get the feeling that things are not as rosy as they appear to be?

It was a small reminder to the Squire when he set foot into the streets of the city of London. Each building that stood beside and across him were tall and thin, huddled to one another, so frail and lithe. He didn't quite understand how these structures would protect anyone from the continuous rain that flowed around the city.

He presumed that the humans residing in them were the ones protecting it.

Each narrow space between the buildings that protruded like long teeth poured an odd shiver down his spine. It didn't appear safe at all with these gaps that separated the houses in the neighbourhood. The buildings were better off joined together and separated by walls rather than open space where it fit two or one person the size of a rubbish disposal.

It filled Paul's body with a strange uncertainty. As if he could expect a figure to emerge from the shadows and pull him into it, stab his body with countless knives and silence him before he could scream for help. Had that happened, would any person spare a glance, give an ear to the pleading soul begging for mercy? With the way the structures were made, the cowardly stance of the thin pieces, he doubted it.

It had him wonder how many have died alone and cold, waiting to be dumped into the dispenser where they become processed food for stray animals.

He began to understand why Sir Martin insisted that he stand alongside him, in case there were poachers hiding, waiting for a good target to beat down and take. Even with the dagger on his waist, he didn't feel safe in the slightest. Anyone could appear from anywhere and pin him down if they wanted, spew venom on his face and laugh vehemently upon his inability to fight back.

In that moment, Paul didn't realize his eyes were snapped shut until he opened them.

Blinking them open, his eyes met the vacant streets of the gloomy city. There wasn't anyone around that were going to pounce on him like jaguars, rip his face off with clawed arms, and revel in his pain. In fact, there wasn't anyone in sight other than those who were walking the streets to the tailor, wide dresses fluttering in the wind as he passed the women by, paying no heed to his existence as he paid none to theirs.

The people wore threads of gabardine, standing in their grey dunes as dull as the sky above them. Paul didn't stand out among them, a young boy with half-lidded hazel eyes and a cloak of ebony upon his shoulders, covering all that he wore in a series of curtains, leaving nothing in sight. He considered purchasing a hard-hat as the gentlemen around all had it around their heads, but thought otherwise, shaking his head at the unnecessity of it.

They all knew he was still a boy of youth, not an adult who was in the working class to set loafs of bread upon their plate, pour soup into their bowls, and the occasional glass of wine that accompanied them like a mistress for the night.

A maiden's parasol came over his head and he glanced up, eyes wider and admiring the translucent material encircled above him. Finding it impolite not to address the fair woman who offered the cloth's comfort, he darted his gaze to meet the woman's cobalt eyes. Her hair, as dark as the small hat that adorned her head with nets and a rose on the back, were softly gathered to the back, twirled into an elegant bun. Her soft and full face was accentuated with the curling bangs reaching the sides of her cheeks, pointing to the mole near her rosy lips.

If he was looking for love, he'd consider asking her. She was very pretty, but older than he was by far. The Squire almost giggled at the silly thought that came to him.

"May I help you, Miss?" he gave her a half-bow, knowing that he didn't have a hat to tip to her.

"Yes.." oh shoot. Was she trying to dupe him with something? Acid? Poison him to put into her doll collection? "There is something I don't want a sweet-faced child as you to see."

His eyes widened slightly when her parasol twirled before she reached down to his side, keeping him from being able to see what was happening. Was she trying to keep him from witnessing a deed her husband was causing? Was she in cahoots with someone who Paul happened to catch sight of?

"Thank you, but I'm sure whatever it may be.. I should see."

He didn't mean to be dismissive, but a jolt of fear resurfaced to him when he heard the call of mercy. Gently running his hand around the kind woman's parasol, he gave it a small push and caught ahold of who that voice belong to. When he recognized those features to one he met just a couple of hours ago, his eyes grew wider.

Why, that was Sir Aspinall!

Swallowing a lump in his throat, he stayed in place weighing his possible options, surveying the situation. It was a husband and wife who were arguing with the passengers in the carriage that Sir Aspinall was managing. The chauffeur was insisting that the passengers forgive the mistake of the couple who came in their way and caused a spoil of their goods, having them drop their jewels and be touched by the hands of dirty mongrels.

The passengers stepped out and one of them brandished a blade from the sheath on their waist and all colour drained from Paul's face. This earnt a worried sigh from the woman who was trying to keep him from concerning himself with the people making a scene.

She inched closer and beckoned him to lean down so she could quietly whisper, "young lad, this sort of animal play is a regular occurrence in the city. Please pay no mind to it."

The Knight who unsheathed his blade pointed it to the scraggier man who held his wife protectively, asking for forgiveness from the good noble family for their naivety.

"We didn't mean to steal! We only seen it upon the ground and figured ye wouldn't be using it any more."

"Such insolence from a beggar.." the Knight was more or less amused, smirking wide under the shadow of their helmet that kept their facial features away from Paul's sight. The acidic tone had him biting his lip and freeze up more. "That oughta cost your tongue!"

"Have mercy Sir! We are sorry!"

"Whose tongue will it be first? The ugly bush of a man, or his hag of a wife?"

The woman, unkempt as her husband wept onto his shoulder in fear, her shrill voice echoing through the apathetic streets. Beads of sweat rolled down Paul's cheek, and his eyes darted away for a second when he felt the woman have a soft grip of his arm, pulling him back into the soft light of her parasol.

"There is nothing we can do about that savage of a Knight but only hope we do not become targets."

"They need our help.." he muttered back, finding his voice return once her silken tone reached his ears. "We can't let it stand."

"I know, young lad. I know. Such determination comes from ignorance of youth." He raised a cautious brow at her, and she gave a wry smile. "I've tried to speak against him, ended up with my legs nearly spread as far as they went. His Majesty ordered his return without 'fooling around' and that saved me."

Paul caught himself before he let out a swear, hand slapping at his lips.

"There's no telling what he would do to you if you stepped in."

Normally, he would respond back that he couldn't give a single inch of care for what happened to him, but his carelessness was going to cost John. His Prince was going to suffer if he acted on his own accord against one of the King's men. He couldn't be thoughtless. He couldn't go with what his heart demanded him to do: what was right.

He had no power against such authority. Not when they have just returned. He had to make sure every step was calculated.

He had to make sure he didn't do anything that was beyond his scope of power. Even when the couple let out helpless wails, when they cried for mercy to the Knight who, with a crooked grin, slashed through their bodies like butchers to little pigs.. the tugging at his heart was a claw ripping off his valves and drinking the blood that spurted through it.

Paul had to bat his lashes and ignore it all.

He had to cover his ears, close his eyes and pretend none of it was happening and continue walking. But all is easy said than done, his body was rigid, stuck on the spot as if the Knight had slashed through his shins and granted him paralysis for playing the bystander, he couldn't move without the kind woman running a hand on his back and pushing him as she continued to walk away from the scene.

"I have said before, dear boy, a little lad as yourself should not have seen that."

"I couldn't ignore it.." he could only whisper back, finding himself relying on the support of the woman more than anything else. "That old couple didn't need to die for that."

"In the cold city of London, all such as that end up in the gallows." She ruefully answered back, a gloved hand clenching tight upon the rod of the umbrella, growing the boy's blind spot.

He didn't mean to, but he took one last glance back at the scene with the Knight and the couple and bile rose to his throat. A merciless blade cut the strings of their love, plunging them into the pits of darkness where pain only awaited them.

Just as it did for his parents when those Knights killed them.

The tightening of her grip on his side and the click of her tongue brought back to the seemingly abrasive Aunt of the Prince. While she had kindness of her heart spilling down her sleeves, there were moments where she stood above them with a piercing stare that informed him and the Prince that no one will oppose her word.

It didn't help that the woman scolded him not to look back in a strictness similar to hers.

"Sorry Miss."

"That's Miss Higgins to you, boy." She chided with a lift of her chin. "Now come along, you should not be in these streets alone."

"Where are we going?"

"I was thinking of walking you home when you told me where you live."

"Oh, I..." he was drawing blank in the worst moment possible. Who wouldn't be able to list their home address off the top of their head in his age?

"But first, some tea. I know of a lovely little café that offers a tea that would soothe your soul." She was smiling at him now, and Paul couldn't help but comply, finding her effort to be too sweet to ignore. It wasn't often when a beautiful woman offered her hand without gazing at him as if he was worse than the consumed goods littering the floor.

He needed to clear his mind before meeting with Sir Martin once again.

"Won't you introduce yourself to me?" when they were close to the glass doors of the small place, she rested a hand onto her hip, smile not dimming. "I told you I am Miss Higgins, what are you, little Sir?"

"Oh, I'm Paul, Miss Higgins."

"Sir Paul.. oh too stiff for a little poppet as yourself." Removing her hand from her hip, she clasped it over her lips as she giggled. Paul found himself laughing slightly, more out of a familiar fondness rather than embarrassment. "But I do recall a beautiful Irish Prince of that name."

"A Prince?" he blinked before shooting out any further reaction that was about to slip. "Well, I suppose there's many of us who share that name. Paul's quite the common one."

"Yes, but not many are James Paul McCartney."

He bit back a wince, clenching his fist to keep him from flinching. How did she know of that name? "I do wonder how he would've been if he hadn't been slain."

Paul almost shouted, 'he's alive and right in front of you!' but knew better not to impulsively act.

He had to feign ignorance. He just needed to.

"He was... killed?"

Her thick brows rose, but softened, taking his hand and leading him inside the place.

"I suppose they do not tell anyone of that boy."

"I have never heard of another Royal Family than Lord Lennon."

"Yes, we are not informed either." She led him to one of the tables away from the windows that surrounded the place, and the Squire began to take a glance around the small wooden structure. It was bigger than it appeared on the outside, with the scents of a selection of tea and milk drinks, the aroma reaching him and offering a massage he so needed. The woman took a whiff of the fragrance that danced around. The table was a thin metal, embroidered around the corners with curves and twirls, cold to the touch but needed to rid of the clamminess of his hands.

The café fit about seven tables that seated up to four people, and above their heads were small incandescent lamps hanging, offering a gentle light to suit the mood of the place.

Returning his attention to the woman seated in front of him, his eyes caught sight of a small white stick nestled between her fingers, blending in with the white of her gloves. The woman’s gaze was at the sepia tinted glass window.

“We do not know what took down the McCartney family, but I was a lucky woman to be graced with the sight of the Prince before it all happened.” Paul saw a fond smile appear with forlorn eyes. “My, a charming young baby he was.”

“They don’t tell children as you these sorts of things anymore. They just cover it up with stories of His Majesty Alfred Lennon, or the Duke Harrison.”

A strange tinge of cynicism budded in Paul at those words.

“’m sure they wipe out the fact that His Majesty forgot to love his wife and son.”

And as expected, Miss Higgins spared him a glance, eyes wider with an intrigued brow raised.

“What do you know..?” she inched closer with a smile.

“It’s all over the place.” Paul lowered his eyes, dismissing her curiosity. There was not a time nor a place for him to divulge to a stranger of a life that was not his.

“You have my interest, little poppet. Tell me what it is.”

“I’d have my tongue cut off.”

He was dipping his feet in the water to see how far words go out about John. One little touch was all he needed to figure that out.

“Surely, you would be able to speak without repercussion if it is all over the place, as you said.”

Well, she caught him there. He smiled small, biting on his index finger. He had to remain tact and remember not to fall down. She may have had a honeyed tongue, but there was always a little strange aftertaste to the sweet substance. One that screamed of suspicion when it was a human.

“Miss Higgins, earlier you told me of how the Royal Knights behave, you do know more than you believe.”

“Ah yes,” her smile grew, batting her eyelashes. “I have said that, but I only know what I have seen.”

Their conversation took a little break when a young woman with a pen and pad appeared, asking if they had a certain request for a tea. Paul and Miss Higgins flashed her a smile.

“Green would be fine, Ma’am. Thank you.”

“And I a black tea, no sugar, no milk.”

When the employee stepped away from them, they continued.

“What do they tell the public about His Majesty?”

“That he is nothing short of an impressive leader. Knows how to get what he wants.”

“Have you confronted a Vassal? Other than the savage Knight?”

“Unfortunately, no.” Paul didn’t notice she lit a match for the stick in her hand until he smelt the familiar scent of smoke. It had him glancing down at her hands. How quickly can one commit arson in a place like this? They could simply call it an accident caused by their matches falling to the ground and igniting by the pressure. “Would you like to try it?”

Widening his eyes, he shook his head.

“You wouldn’t be up for a smoke if you still suck your fingers, poppet.”

Embarrassed, he pulled his finger out, smiling wryly.

“Do the public know he has a son?”

She barked a laugh, hand reaching near her lips, but not quite touching it.

“Of course, we all know he has a son! There wouldn’t be anyone who would inherit the Throne after he’s shrivelled and died.”

“Yes, that’s true..” he must’ve sounded like a foolishly curious child in front of adults. It reminded him that he really had not spent much of his time around figures older than John, or anyone in that manner. If he was going to cover up for John, he had to learn how to cover up his own lack of social skills.

Man, John wasn’t joking when he told him he was terrible at it.

“What do they tell you about J—his son, His Highness?”

She parted her lips to give him an answer but stopped when the young woman returned with two cups of tea, both in lovely little ceramic cups, delicately built like the tables.

“Thank you.”

Taking a sip, she returned her attention to Paul.

“Oh, we’ll see what he says tonight, would we not?”

“Tonight?”

“Yes, he has been looking forward to revealing his Heir that he left in the shadows for so long.”

Left in the shadows for so long… she meant now that John has finally returned under a pressuring order from his father. With all due respect, Paul couldn’t find anything that was worthy of scratching a wound on the King, but John’s feelings about it, John’s Mother Julia, and Aunt Mimi’s viewpoints made a mark in his mind. They were the three voices that told Paul there was more to the King that meets the eye.

It was no longer an image of white or black, but a blend of the two. A gray image.

That gray-ness had Paul in for a cautious throw.

“I thought he would be more… I don’t know, prideful to keep his son away from the public eye.”

“If I were him, the only reason I would hide my son would be if I was ashamed of him.” She reasoned with a shrug, not noticing the lump Paul swallowed at that. It was almost frightening how that was exactly why Alfred Lennon sent his son to Aunt Mimi to be under her care until he was forced to take him back in.

It was a tough pill to swallow, that Paul and Aunt Mimi were the only ones who knew this.

No wonder John’s Mother was shocked hearing her sister is where her son lived.

“But isn’t that cruel? A parent is expected to love their child even when they’re undone..”

He received a sardonic smile.

“There is a reason why I don’t have children, little Paul.”

And Paul lost the words that were following up his belief in parenthood.

“But if I did, if he was like you… I would’ve loved him no matter what.”

“That can’t be true.. we’ve only just met.”

“And your heart, she speaks to me. Your heart asks to be protected, and yet tries to stand on its own.”

She brought the white stick to her lips and took a drag of it, glancing down at the cup with the dark liquid resting.

“They tell me boys don’t have eyes that talk. They can never be vulnerable for that is a bird’s way.”

She gazed at him, meeting his eyes.

“But I never believed it. Men were not born steeled, otherwise all would be savages like that Knight.”

“We tend to hear a lot of bull from weak people.” He found himself blinking once more, wondering where the cynicism was coming from. He wasn’t the kind to speak ill of others as open and petty as this.. what was causing it? He supposed anything related to John brought out a darker side of him.

“That may be true, but not all are weak. Many of these were strong people who grew tired.”

She pressed the stick on the table, crushing its body in itself.

“Like this cig, people can only face so much before they break.”

His eyes stayed on the destroyed piece.

“Can you guarantee that you won’t break like this cigarette?”

He could only shake his head.

“Exactly.” She left it in its misery on the table with a bitter smile, “I can guarantee you, however, that you won’t become a savage.”

“But how?”

“No one with innocent eyes like yours could do harm.”

He hadn’t given the cup a touch since the woman brought it to their table, instead fiddled with his fingers, letting one rub onto the nail of the other, and reversing the motion. He had no interest in a drink as he did with the woman, Miss Higgins. Something in him told him not to set her aside as someone he should only meet once and no time more.

“We should meet another time, Paul luv.”

It was then he realizes she had downed the searing drink as if it was only lukewarm.

“Of course, Miss Higgins. We could correspond through letters..”

“That would be great.”

He had the feeling, he could figure out more of the public expectations upon John if he had her in his reach. And anything he needed in order to assist the Prince, he had to do. There was nothing more to his life than serving John in this current moment.

And with the life he’s lived, he wouldn’t want it any other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading~ already at 500 hits.. amazing.


	14. A Prince's Return

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so it begins..  
> Gosh, this one turned out to be a lot cuter than how my rough notes gave.

\--

Sir Martin did not have to fret about the well-being of the Prince's teacher. He gave him twenty minutes to refresh himself after his nerves decided to spike up inside of his lithe body, and within the nineteenth minute, he returned to the Knight's side with a small smile, no longer clammy and hiding in himself.

"Y'feeling better, son?"

The little teacher gave a courteous nod.

"Thank you, Sir Martin." Then his eyes widened a little as if he remembered something important. "Did someone enter the Castle while I was gone?"

This earnt a raise of the Knight's brow.

"No, none that I came across, why?"

They were returning to the Castle when the Squire was rattling his mind in debate whether he should inform the Knight of what he happened to witness while he was getting some air. That Knight's behaviour struck every civilian as wrong, but none took a bold step forward to bring it to a halt. Sir Aspinall was the only one who tried to remind the bastard that it was to act upon impulse and enforce cruel judgment, but that went to deaf ears.

Should he have the seemingly kind Knight know that his own people savagely slain a couple who were struggling to earn their daily bread?

Lowering his eyes to the ground, his smile was distant when he dismissed himself.

"No.. nothing."

"I think we should know if the one you saw could impose as a threat to His Majesty and his son."

His gaze met Sir Martin's ever so concerned filled eyes, and Paul clicked his tongue.

While he wasn't explaining due to the fact that it was not something new to the public, it could be misinterpreted as a lack of trust to the Knight. And while that was understandable, it was not kind to undermine his effort to make the Prince and his teacher comfortable in their surroundings.

Paul had a heart very big for those who never gave up on empathy and compassion.

"If not for me, for His Highness.. could you tell me if they were a possible threat?"

But Paul also had a heart for those who believed they were doing the right thing even when it was wrong.

Sir Martin would be washed with disappointment had he figured out that Paul seen a Knight—a comrade in arms of his brutally kill people for simply laying a finger on something that was theirs. It didn't appear as he could do the same as that—'that savage', as Miss Higgins labelled him.

The Knight's eyes wouldn't be as bright and warm as they were if he had to lift that blade to take an innocent life.

Before the Knight could ask again, Paul gave him a slow nod.

_For John's safety, I have to ignore what opinion you have on those you stand beside._

It was cruel upon the Knight, but if he was going to be interpreted as someone who couldn't trust the King's Vassals, they would keep him away from John. Who knows what schemes he would pull up if it makes John happy, even if it hurts the Prince? He could play him like a puppet and take advantage of the poor, dim-witted Prince. That would be their belief upon seeing the Squire only obey the Prince.

Rumours go a long way...

"When I was along the way to Brick Lane, there was a Knight who killed a couple."

He closed his eyes, avoiding the shocked gaze of the Knight.

"Are you sure it was a Knight?"

The disbelief in his tone told Paul enough of how much Sir Martin knows of the King's Vassals.

"They had the same crest as you have engraved on your mantle. The Blackbird."

The Blackbird that sang in the dead of night.

With a swallow, Sir Martin continued, "you were wondering if he returned."

Paul nodded again.

"I didn't see anyone, so I'm doubtful."

So, the savage Knight was still in town then, still going around every street and pillaging through wherever he so wants. Paul could only frown at the thought of that.

\--

"God, Paulie, where the hell did that Knight take you?"

As soon as Paul returned and was near the Prince's Chambers, courtesy of Sir Martin, he was barrelled into the Chambers quite literally by John. The two Knights left the teacher to attend to the Prince's needs as they were still unsure of where he would be staying. The King did not spare them enough information to help the two newcomers, so they decided it was best that the two stay together until the fog clears up.

The Prince's grip on his upper arms were so tight, the little teacher could've sworn they replaced his hands with talons that were waiting to crush his bones.

"We just went halfway through the Castle, then outside."

"Outside? Where?" The Prince's frantic gaze darted to the sides. "Should'a called me with ye. I am practically dying in this doll-room!"

"Doll-room?" The Squire's hands slowly inched up to touch the Prince's, gently motioning him to remove his hands. When he didn't catch on, Paul let his eyes roam around the huge room. For sure, it was larger than his cozy nook of a room in Mendips Fortress, but the intricate work put upon the place was gorgeous. He wanted to find who the designer was and offer praise for their handiwork.

Every part of the room was embellished with precious material and effort to please the Prince. It was all the city could do to bring a smile to the stern Prince's face, but it didn't seem to register in his mind.

"Why John, this place is beautiful. Imagine how long it took to have all these paintings done? The wall work.. the furniture, the little tributes of the folks in the city. Nay, the country!" maybe it was wrong that he was amazed. By no means did he want what John currently had, but he wanted to give credit where it was due. No regular man would be bestowed with such love and expensive intricacies as was offered to a Prince or a King

"Look Paulie, this freaking room could feed an entire nation!" Paul didn't know John's eyes could widen as much as they did until now. He couldn't agree with his words knowing that there was nothing that could be done about it. He knew however, that if he was in John's shoes, he would be mourning all the same.

"But look, they've decided that you're more important than they are, that you are worth millions."

At this, John lost all bravado that pumped his chest and loosened his grip on Paul's arms.

"They think I'm worth... millions?"

Paul blinked, before nodding with a smile. He wasn't sure if the Prince was in joy to hear that, or in sorrow that they believe a lie.

"Worth millions... millions worth.." He kept repeating like a metronome, inching further and further away from Paul with those lost eyes and shaking hands. Perhaps, it was the wrong answer. Perhaps not.

Not, for sure. While John had the imagery of a confident young man who knew his worth, in truth...

"That can't be possible! I've done nothing to be worth millions!"

The Prince's knees buckled as he knelt down to the ground that stared back at him with those large eyes. For that moment, there were no other action from him than the shallow breaths he was taking in and out. Finding no merit in trying to lift him up since he would fall back down, the Squire knelt in front of him, pale hands reaching for the Prince's gloved hands that clenched in itself.

"Now John.. you can't say that."

"Of course, I can! Tell me the last good deed I've ever done. I swear ye won't be able to say it. Ye can't because—"

Paul's answer was immediate, smiling small cutting off his words.

"You've shown concern over me as soon as I've returned."

At this, John met his eyes. Paul's mind returned to the conversation he had with the capricious Miss Higgins who lamented that no boy had eyes that spoke, that were true windows to the soul, to the heart that overflowed with love and tender care. Oh, the men that she has come across were just the wrong kinds.

She has never seen John as Paul always did.

And nothing spoke more lovingly than John's beautiful brown eyes he often got lost in. Smaller than his eyes they were, darker they were, but they held so much passion that it caught him in a web he would happily tangle himself in. It was a lie when they said that brown eyes held no beauty, for Paul knew the ones he loved most had them and wore it beautifully.

"Do you think I am worth anything, Paul?" the way his little voice reappeared. That hushed, hesitant and honest tone that only came when he was in particular stress, when his true voice surfaced. The shivering rabbit under the hide of a wolf.. Paul wanted to do nothing but hold him in his arms and whisper sweet nothings that he needed.

It wasn't anything wrong to do, was it? He was practically the Prince's crutch. When he fell down, the Squire had to help him back up on his feet. This was nothing different.

He hoped to pour all his loving in the smile he wore only for John.

"Yeah. You're worth the world, John."

"More than England?"

Paul nodded, smile not leaving.

"More than Europe?"

Another nod.

"More than the Americas?"

A nod again.

"More than Asia? Australia? Africa? Antarctica?"

John finally had a smile reaching his face upon hearing Paul break into giggles.

"Yes yes, Johnny. All of it."

But he was not done just yet.

"How about the lakes? The oceans? The rivers?"

"What part of 'worth the world' don't you understand?"

Seeing his little friend and brother laugh was worth every silly comment uttered. Nothing was worth more than that boy's smile, his laughs as if the Prince was the funniest man on earth, his patience to sit with him without heaving a sigh or raising his voice.

"I'm afraid I don't understand what ye mean, Paulie. You've never taught me vocabulary."

"Oh yes I did! I taught you that first thing."

"Quit kidding yourself, ye taught me grade 10 sh—stuff as soon as you started your lessons."

"Well I figured I didn't have to teach ye grammar since you were talking already."

"Ah, I have caught Paulie Mac'n cheese contradicting himself, how do you sleep at night knowing ye lied straight through your teeth."

"Quite well, thank you. It was not a lie since I did have to show you how to grow some manners, and that included verbal speech, y'know." Oh, how dare his little teacher use that matter-of-fact tone with him? Oh, he'll show him...

It took the boy by surprise when the Prince uncurled his hands under the Squire's and lifted it to cup his face. He was about to question his action but earnt an answer in the form of the Prince's fingers clenching upon his cheeks and pulling them. And while John was aware that Paul was not fond of getting his cheeks pulled, he also saw that he made no motion to stop said action.

Instead, he resigned, closing his eyes with a forced smile. Even if he wasn't smiling, the gesture of having his cheeks stretched would give the look of a big smile.

"Looks like Aunt Mimi's teachings got to you."

"I had to. The gremlin had the iron rod in her hands."

"And what did I have, flowers?"

At that, John lightened his pull, glancing straight at Paul with slightly wide eyes.

"Actually, yes. Yes, ye did."

"You—"

"can't be serious, right? I am _always_ serious, Paulie. When will ye ever understand that?"

Now Paul took the chance to remove John's hands from his soon to be throbbing cheeks.

"Surely, I wasn't the only one."

"Keep lying to yourself, Macca. Ye brought Meems flowers and after that, she started growing her gardens with it and hung'em around the house." John rolled his eyes, finding himself stating nothing more than what was obvious.

"Oh please, she had the flowers in the garden a while before I came in the picture." But of course, Paul had to return the jest.

"Paulie, my dear Paulie. It was a real fortress dungeon before they sent you in."

"How old are you talking about? When I was still in my Mother's arms?"

And then it returned to John like a bolt to the blue. What happened to Paul's parents? Why didn't they ever make a move and call him to return home all these years? Surely, they would've sent letters asking of his condition if they loved him. They would be sending gifts his way knowing they can't interfere with the Royal decrees..

Up until now, the Squire made no mentions of his parents or if he even had a family. The closest he got to the truth was on his eleventh birthday, but as soon as he was going to lay him with answers, it took a pair of broken wings and used it to fly, never to be seen again.

The Prince was afraid to ask.

He didn't want the Squire to close himself another time in this long day as he did with those Knights.

"Hei Paulie.." his eyes flicked up. "Do ye think I'm going to meet my future wife with my da'?"

He hoped to see hesitation with his limited vision in those hazel eyes. He wished to hear nothing but, 'no way, after all, she has no place in your Kingdom', but this was Paul he was talking about, that lad was too respectful to tell him exactly what he wanted to hear.

It was cruel.

"No telling, but I'm doubtful. His Majesty would prefer to see you alone, I would think."

And that doubt was enough to satisfy him. At the very least, it wasn't a definite, 'yes'.

\--

Having nothing else they could do but be with each other in the agoraphobic surrounding, the Prince's lovely little teacher suggested that they continue musing. It was the best they could do in the limited access to.. anything really.

After helping the Prince dress, they still had a lot of time before night fell and the King would return from his trip to the Birmingham Palace. Finding that they did not have instruments they could strum and create musical notes to, they focused on lyrical content and humming possible melodies to connect it to. They were not at Mendips Fortress where they had that old piano that Paul was so drawn to, and John couldn't find it in him to lay his lips on the silver harmonica his Aunt gave him on his eighteenth birthday.

Not in this prison of an abysmal room. For all he knew, his father would force it out of his hands and throw it where the sun doesn't shine. John didn't want Uncle George's legacy to fall in a pin drop.

Seated on the large bed draped in velvet mahogany blankets and facing one another, the Prince was perched on the upper half of the bed, leaning on the many pillows tossed on the head. Those soft, feathery little pieces practically covered the hard-wood that held it together. In front of him was his teacher, using his lap as a desk for his notebook as the two wrote. John had a knee up, leaving the other dangle off the mattress, his left hand refusing to leave Paul's right, eyes bearing into the teacher's as they serenaded one another.

While rueful about his sight drifting him by, a smile appeared on his face at the sight of his companion's soft smile. If Paul's smile was the only thing his eyes could show, he would be fine with that. He could still listen to the music that came from those rosy lips, those softly spoken words that came from those heartbeats he wanted to feel every moment of his time.

If it was with Paul, he didn't mind becoming a husk of nothingness, without eyes to see, ears to hear, a voice to speak. He really didn't mind being completely disabled for all of life's senses if Paul was beside him.

If Paul loved him.

_If you're by my side, I don't need anything else._

And caught in those hazel pools he swirled endlessly. He couldn't break free, but he didn't mind. If he had to be a puppet under his strings, he would be happily strung up. If he could use his arms to encircle around the younger boy, he would in a blink of an eye and never let go until he resists.

And resist, he wouldn't. For he knew love was in Paul's eyes.

His smile flipped into a frown when the door banged. Someone was popping the bubble of their world, invading once again with their insipid nonsense. Why couldn't he be left with the one he loved most? He was already separated from the one who gave him something closest to a Mother's love.

The trance they were enveloped in sifted with the knocks as his teacher shifted his gaze to the long doors. The Prince followed his gaze and placed his quill down, pointing at the door with his middle finger up high.

"His Majesty must've returned.." Paul uncurled himself, slipping his book near John before going to the door. John raised a brow when he turned his face to glance at him, then noted the tilt of his head that meant to hide the books on the bed before any unwelcomed guest gander upon it.

It was only when he was certain John hid the books that he opened the door, knowing it was Sir Epstein.

"Has His Majesty returned, Sir Epstein?"

He didn't have to beat around the bush when they had no minute to spare in small talk. Paul was only relieved that Sir Epstein didn't mind at all, smiling at him in appreciation.

"Indeed, Sir Paul. You're a quick lad."

"I'll have His Highness prepared in a moment."

"He is in the Throne Room," Sir Epstein didn't have to go through the baby steps and tell Paul what he meant, for he knew it was imperative that John was dressed and holding the air of a Prince when he steps out of his Chambers. There was no time to be "himself" once he steps out of the huge room he sought refuge in. "Greeting his subjects."

"Thank you for letting us know. He'll be there soon."

With a small nod, Sir Epstein stepped away as Paul pushed the long door until it clicked in place. When it was closed, he was back at John's side in a matter of seconds, leaning on the soft mattress rather than seating himself. He couldn't get too comfortable otherwise they will be hearing it from John's father.

"Da's home." John appeared to mutter to himself, shifting in his position so his legs dangled, toes nearly touching the floor and drawing his hands together in an attempt to knot them in one another. "I'm actually going to meet that son of a—"

"John,"

"Not 'son of a John', John's his son. He's a rotten, piece of—"

"You won't say that to his face, would you?"

"Honesty is the best policy, is it not, Paulie?" he snapped back.

"If you're willing to throw all that we've done behind, then sure."

Paul furrowed his brow, reminding him that his negative sentiment to his father was unwanted. No one truly cares about what the King has done with his son as long as he was there in the Castle, breathing and doing his job. And if John had plans of his own, he had to play along these.

It didn't matter how much he wanted to bash that old skull in, he had to wait before he had enough power to not only run his fist to his cheek but have a large, ebony hammer slam down on his head and causing a spectacle of disfigurement. He had to play along, be nice, be respectful as if he was not at all disturbed that his father had broken his family apart and he no longer remembers his mother and father.

For him, family was Uncle George, Aunt Mimi and Paul.

"Am I ready, Paul?"

There he went, not using 'Paulie' again. Was it possible that he was going to lose that name soon?

"You are, John." He smiled small, setting all his thoughts aside, leaving only the lingering hope that John felt the reassurance he was offering. When John did not move an inch from his position, he repressed a sigh.

He crept up closer to the Prince, so near that the Prince's warm breath drew upon his neck, coming to a little hitch. Paul glanced up when he sensed John beginning to freeze up for some reason and took that moment to run his fingers along the strands of auburn hair around his forehead. Parting them in a gentle sway, he caressed it with a touch of his lips, lasting a couple of seconds till he stepped back with a small smile.

Oh, John's reaction was amusing, falling between embarrassment, astonishment, amazement and the need for more. His eyes were blown wide, his cheeks as scarlet as the lovely flecks of his hair under the light, lips parted and almost dropping his jaw.

"Now will you come along?"

The Prince could only nod in slow motion, blush not leaving him.

\--

It was foolish, it was ridiculous, it was mind-boggling, but it was.

The Prince couldn't believe that all that he wanted to voice out, all that he wanted to lay upon his teacher, upon his father, the scars he wanted to show, the fist he wanted lodged down that man who left him after forcing life into his body, the pain in his heart that he wanted to bleed out... all that need caught a knot in his throat, repelling it from seeing the light of the world, got back inside of him and broke into a dwindle of flowers and butterflies.

All because of a kiss on his forehead.

An angel's caress upon him. A little cherub who was willing to kiss and lay his feathery fingers upon every blemish, every scab, every wound, welt, burn, disfigurement and treat it as they were precious material, as if he mattered, as if he deserved better.

All needs to vent out the haunting anger welled up deep inside of him for thirteen years lodged back with a small kiss to his forehead and that cruel smile that was only for him. Did his teacher know of the power he has over him? He could have an urge, a need to commence a bloody massacre, but as soon as he would receive a frown in response, he would set it all aside.

Keep it in the backburner.

And he wasn't bothered by it, so long as that teacher stays by him. If he could attain anything that told the Prince that he was loved, he would disappoint himself for that very child.

Thus, here he was, left hand on the right hand of his teacher who was guiding him through the halls, arm bunching the ends of his cape as he dragged it along the gold marble grounds. It was taking effort for the Prince to avoid having his disdain out on display, the thundering of his heart in his chest as he was barely an inch away from his teacher. His teacher who casually laid his lips upon his exposed forehead.

Golly, Paul did that often, but it still came as a whirlwind to John. He still couldn't control his heart from having a meltdown inside, only keeping itself together for it would make the work of that very same person he loved so much be in vain. For all to be in naught.

Shifting his attention away from his teacher, the Prince grumbled to himself. How long were these halls anyway? It seemed to be as long as three neighbourhoods before they would reach the Throne Room. Just how many people lived in here that it had to be so long and tiring? They should have in-door carriages to help them around.

He didn't want to imagine how the servants worked, going from room to room for the smallest task.

They came to a halt when they came across another long, large set of doors. In contrast to the light, bright doors that led to his Chambers, this held the deep shade of charcoal. Pen John surprised when the door did not stain their hands when touched.

"John," his teacher finally spoke, "I think you should go first. You're the Prince, they're anticipating your returned."

"Yeah, but wouldn't they want you to do the honours and announce my arrival?"

He almost missed the small wince at that. Maybe he wasn't one for garnering attention, but it wasn't like they were going to study him like vermin, like a pawn on the board. They were the expendables, the ones that don't really matter, the ones forgotten. There was a possibility that Paul was a bigger figure than he assumed, than the boy let on.

For all he would know, he could be the real Prince they're waiting for, and John was his body double.

"I doubt that they would know me. Besides, I am more or less your servant, they wouldn't appreciate us on the same footing."

Eyeing his teacher up and down, he bit his lip. Come to think about it, Paul didn't have the defining features of a servant, a slave or anyone lower than John. For one, he has grace and elegance to his name, he has intelligence that a day to day slave is not given, he didn't pose as a being inferior, in fact, he would very much be the one holding the reins to every operation.

He could be quite the formidable threat to John and... and to his father.

John had to hide back a smile at the thought of what he could have Paul do with the power he truly has.

"A teacher is no servant, Paulie." Could he gauge him to realize what he is capable of doing?

"A teacher before, but in the Castle, that is the same as a smart slave." Had he ever noticed that sometimes... his teacher couldn't hide his emotion at crucial moments? If he never did before, now he's seen that truth ebbing with a bitterness unlike Paul. Paul would be sure to stay courteous and kind, even when it was not the easiest time for it.

That bitter poison he could offer to his father in slow sips.

"Yeah, but attendants have more respect than a slave, why not call yourself that?"

He earnt a raised of the boy's arched brow.

"Don't look at me like that, I'm trying to help ye here."

"Who said I need help?"

"It's written all over your face, Macca. Ye need your handsome Prince to help ya out, and I'm willing to help you break free." He jokingly puffed his chest when making a jest about being a handsome Prince, truth or not.

"Break free from what? I was never mistreated, not treated like a cipher."

It would take longer to persuade him, it seemed. Oh well, John was willing to take his time so long as Paul wasn't going to leave his sight. As long as it takes, he'll wait.

But he won't give up.

"Now come on, don't say any of these strange things to His Majesty or anyone around. They'll use it to play you like a fiddle."

Oh... it would take longer for sure. Paul was giving him that look that people do when they believe the speaker has grown a second head.

"Yes, Mum."

His teacher simply rolled his eyes, pushing the open, hand finally parting regretfully from the Prince.

"Entering, His Highness.. the honourable John Lennon!"

John almost stumbled upon the announcement that came from Paul. He did imagine him having a voice that raise up loud and clear, but it still caught him by surprise. Somehow, he was expecting a shrill call as his naturally sweet tenor sounded, but when it boomed through the hall, it was strong. That meek air he usually carried was gone when the doors opened, and they were exposed to the audience like animals in a tamer's exhibition. He wasn't going to allow them the satisfaction of seeing the shivers that ran down their spine.

The Prince wondered where the sudden build up came from. If he was able to see all these people who turned their gazes upon them, he would've been a puddle of John, his knees already threatened to fail him. How would he have stood if he was able to see more than five pairs of eyes scrutinizing him?

They were watching for every shake, every shiver, stumble, misstep, a blunder from the Prince. They were staring like predators waiting to eat him whole, waiting to string him as their puppet and control every breath he took, every blink and click.

"Go on, Johnny."

That mutter alone, that boy's presence rid of any rivalling pressure they were subjecting him to. Nothing else mattered when Paul stood beside him, and now behind him as John stepped away from him, glancing at his subjects as if they were nothing worthy of his attention. These people did not know who he was, thinking of him as a naïve, fooling young boy. They were waiting to tear into his flesh.

But he wasn't going to allow that, not even for a micro-second. Not when Paul was there who believed he would do well.

Who was he that cared for what the public did or thought of him? Those viewpoints can go where the sun doesn't shine. There was only one boy whose opinion mattered, and that boy knew.. nothing else matters. He knew, and that was why he encouraged John to walk up to his father as he would stroll into Strawberry Fields, or around the gardens.

Without a care in the world.

So, what if their eyes popped out of their skulls upon witnessing such a confident strut of the Prince? The glance back that told them, without a word, that he knew all that he wanted to do, and they were not going to stand in his way. Prince John was not one to fall under the influence of another, he wasn't going to be chained down by a regular man, he wasn't going to submit to anyone.

Not when there was Paul who would stand by him, who would smile his way. That boy who was willing to give his everything to John, who made John feel wanted, cherished and loved. He needed no one more. Just Paul, and that was enough.

He only waited till Paul would truly give him everything. He gave his mind, his heart, and soon, his soul and what carried it.

His boots made prints upon the soft carpet laid out for him as he strode to his father, the King. He didn't need to take a peek back to know his teacher stood beside the two of his newly appointed personal guards: Sir Epstein and Sir Martin. All he needed to do was keep his eyes at his father, and offer a smile.

Thirteen years of never seeing his face, and John was not going to let him know that he was rather astonished by how similar he and his father were. He had to look like one of his parents.. if his deep brown eyes and auburn hair, the softness of his skin and smile came from his mother, his aquiline nose, slightly curling strands of hair and stern bone structure had to be from his father. His father's hair was a dusky brown, coming short and with sideburns touching down his cheekbones. His eyes were smaller than John's, aged and glaring, but John had to admit with a bite of his tongue.. he wasn't bad looking.

In fact, he was almost a splitting image of John, just older and with colder eyes.

Even when he smiled warmly, he was cold.

"My son." The King stood from the large Throne, and John had a clearer view of him. He was very, very tall, dressed in layers and layers of fine cloth, in similar rubies and sapphires as the Prince, but he was comfortable with a flood of it. Even his boots were jewelled and made of expensive material that John would cringe if he was told to wear. It took a great effort for John to be given an amethyst brooch to hold his cape with, while his father...

It was as if he made countless demands to be dressed in precious stones and pure cloth to show his position as King, the richest in England.

God, how sickening can he get?

"Itis with great pleasure that I welcome you home."

He needed to shift his focus away from the disgusting sight—now wishing he could see nothing in the world if this is what it looked like. He knelt, keeping his head low so he could finally sneak a glance at his teacher dressed in a snow white. How much joy it filled him to be able to lay his eyes upon his teacher, standing two feet small despite his nice height, reaching Sir Martin and Sir Epstein's noses. How he felt the boy gaze back at him, doe hazel eyes keeping at him and no one more.

How cute..

"I've returned, Lord father." Upon speaking to him John realized it was going to be a harder pill to swallow, offering his father respect as he was supposed to. Just how does one play the respectful gentlemen to one he dislikes? Play a dutiful and grateful son to a man he didn't view as his father.. it was difficult, to say the least.

"Rise, my son." Upon such command, he stood up, lifting his head up to meet his father's gaze, biting back a growl when he saw those eyes were to the side, where Paul stood. It took everything in him to resist balling his fist and laying it upon his cheek by the way he was glancing at Paul, the way it shook his resolve, paling him more than he already was. "I take it the Scribe I have assigned has assisted you immensely."

_Sure looks like you'd need one to teach you manners. Look at me when you talk to me!_

He resisted many quips, restrained them for it was certainly not the moment to lay them bare.

"Do tell me, son," he finally glanced back at John, losing all traces of a former smile. "Just what is it that you intend to do with that boy?"

He couldn't hold back raising an indignant brow.

"And what does it matter if I want to keep him as my attendant?"

The King was slightly taken aback, but the cool air around him resurfaced in a second's time.

"That boy must've served you well for you to have a high opinion on him."

"I didn't say anything like that." He retorted back, furrowing his brow, "and again, what's it to you?"

All he wanted in this moment was for his father to keep his eyes away from Paul. He clearly did not want their talk to be about him. Even in the distance, John could see him fiddling with his fingers, wanting them to focus on each other rather than bringing outsiders.

"If you liked him not, you would not have brought him here." It was simple as that. "I would not disapprove of your request for you are my child, I want to respect your needs."

_If you did, you wouldn't have left me like I didn't matter._

"I don't wish to be an opponent of yours, John."

_Should've thought of that sooner._

John huffed, crossing his arms with a sneer. "Neither do I. Let's set our differences aside, eh?"

He glanced back upon hearing the many gasps sounding the Throne Room. Mission accomplished.

"Yes, let us." The King extended his hand to his son, and with the need to cover it up with a table-cloth, John took his hand and shook it.

"All is in the past, is it not, John?"

"Sure is, daddy-kins."

He was hoping Paul got a kick out of that. He did get a reaction from a person to his right. It wasn't a huge one per see, just a small giggle that resembled a woman's. It was only then he noticed there was someone who was standing a meter away from the King and he, a rather short woman quite thin, might've been shorter than Aunt Mimi, he couldn't really tell. She was just short, with floods of inky strands covering most her face and was...

Was dressed 'like a bloke', as John's mind registered.

"Ono, it is rude to laugh." He addressed the woman who blended oddly well with the shadows that the Throne created. Rather than wanting to know more about her, he wanted to keep away as far as he could. She had the presence of an assassin, instantly putting John in his place.

"My apologies, Sire." She mumbled, removing her hand from her lips.

The Prince felt the gaze of his teacher nearing the woman, wide and curious. Even he didn't know who she was...

_Guess there really were things Paul didn't know about. Kinda relieving, to say the most._

"There will be a banquet held in your name tomorrow. I do hope you do not feel too tired to attend." The King had him glance back, meeting those steeled eyes. "We arranged it with the Powell Kingdom three months ago... therefore we will not be able to change the date."

"'s fine, I'll make sure to attend."

The King only responded with a small, "wonderful", and the Prince resisted yet another roll of his eyes.

"Now, let us enjoy our dinner laid out in the dining hall." Stepping away, he addressed the woman once more. "Ono, guide my son and his scribe."

"Of course."

And with that, the King exeunt, leaving the Prince and his few subjects. The Vassals lined up and left the room, Sir Martin and Sir Epstein behind them. The woman stayed in her place until the Room was vacant before she gestured the Prince and his teacher to follow her.

John almost glued himself to Paul's side, barely keeping an inch away.

"If you're a lady, why do you dress like.." the Prince eyed her up and down, "like a y'know, a man?"

She didn't hold back a quip. "If you are a Prince, why do you dress like... like a y'know, a lesser noble?"

_Oh, she's good._

"Because all that jewels and silk is not me."

"As is a maiden's dress, Sire."

His little pout sifted with a gape when she smiled at him, answering him in a manner that pointed out the foolishness of his question. He should at least understand that dressing comfortably mattered more than presenting yourself as who or what you are.

Damn, now he felt stupid.

His teacher remained in quiet observation, glancing between the two.

Who was this woman to the King? A spoil of war as he was? It was not hard to miss that she was a foreigner, but he wasn't sure why the King of England would invade other countries without any good purpose. Perhaps, he underestimated the King's need for territory. It is unnatural for one to be satisfied with what they have. With a little power comes the thirst for more and more, where a small taste is no longer enough to satisfy.

He didn't want to imagine what has been done to the poor woman.

Another glance at her told him a story separate. There was still another side of the coin he has not checked and assessed. There was a possibility that her home was taken from her, but it wasn't through the hands of the King. Instead, it is possible that she was given a second life by him—he rescued her and made her a part of his Royal Council.

That tale would connect better than the previous assumption that he had. He was proof of His Majesty's benevolence. If he sees merit in a living being, he takes them under his wing, treats them well. He would offer them another chance when all gives up on them.

The woman's gaze met his, and he swallowed a nervous lump in his throat, finding nothing within the masses that could've been darker than black. What scared the teacher more than anything else was how he couldn't read anything written in them, nothing reflected in those hooded eyes, yet there was not a single shroud of malicious intent within them.

It was sheer curiosity.

When the Prince huffed, crossing his arms like a child in front of the woman and turned to his side, then he realized they were waiting for a response from him. Blinking a couple of times, he glanced from the mysterious woman to John.

"I beg your pardon, Miss."

"Excuse me too," her smile was long yet little, polite and only present to keep him from giving her a glare. She spoke in a measured pace, not for reason of believing Paul to be an idiot, but as if she was having slight trouble in speaking their language. "I believe His Highness is waiting for... an approval from you."

"Approval for what?" he asked in a manner of a dimwit, raising a brow and glancing at John. John only scoffed, leaving the woman to answer him once more.

"His Highness... was waiting for the 'okay!' from you as I.." her sinewy hand reached for the curling end of her inky strands, "told him I would be both your guide."

"But why does he need me to give the 'okay'?"

"He does not trust me, somehow." She bit her lip in uncertainty, but Paul noticed she wasn't truly bothered by John's antics. She found it rather amusing.

"Pardon him, it's our first time here." Giving a little chuckle, the boy bowed his head to the woman apologetically. "Let us be off."

Her next comment had the teacher raising his brows higher than usual.

"I have asked your Mummy as you've said, Sire." She faced the Prince then, a strange glint in her eyes but with a face that expressed nothing but annoyance.

"Mummy?!" Paul gaped at John, whose gaze was proud, gazing down with his chin up unfairly at the woman.

"I know, y'think I'm too deaf to hear that?"

"I was making sure you made note of it..."

"Paulie here only has to make sure of that."

"What do you mean, Mum?"

He was ignored.

"Allow me to show you to the dinner hall." She turned on her heel, beckoning the two to follow, but the Prince remained in his spot.

"No."

"No?" Golly, Paul felt guilt welling up inside of him for the way John was messing with her. She probably couldn't understand that he is making a fool out of her, jesting his way through everything just for his own entertainment, not caring whether she knew what he was saying or not.

"No." This time, he was smiling, finding their bizarre interaction to be something he couldn't keep up with.

And the poor woman took it with an innocence that punched the teacher in the gut.

"Why?"

"Because I don't wanna."

"You don't... wanna?" the confusion in those eyes that stared straight into their souls..

"Yeah~"

Paul ended up doing what he does best, slapping a palm to his face and begging for the void to swallow him whole. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading~


	15. A Moment's Preparation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An update after so long... geez, let me apologize for such a long wait. I had a little writer's block moment when trying to plot out how I want this to go on and began doodling quite a bit. They're on my Twitter and some still in my tablet. I have a roadmap on what would fit in this story, but with how some things have changed in between drafts and actually writing the chapters, let's say there were some adjustments to be made.
> 
> This is still going to end in a bittersweet way, just longer than I hoped. I'm happy though, it gave a reason for some things that are going to happen in the chapters ahead.
> 
> Minor edits were made since Chrome ate some bits.

**\--**

"Well, pen me surprised, John. I never knew you were such an actor."

It was by chance that it was the Prince's first day back 'home' that His Majesty allowed the two to excuse themselves early on at the dinner hall. The Prince only had to pretend he was not used to the rich taste in the food offered to him, say a little white lie about how he couldn't stomach said provisions and the atmosphere made him queasy.

His teacher had to admit, he didn't think that would work, even for a second.

"You underestimate me so. I thought we were past that, Paulie."

He may have been, but it didn't simmer down the flames that birthed in him, a fire of fear and powerless battles. That churning of his gut, the sweat that swept down his brow, his teeth that caught upon his lips often, nearly drawing blood of loss and surrender.. there was something that told him that the King only allowed the Prince some temporary privacy as he genuinely wanted to bury the hatchet that dug a fissure of distance between them.

At the same time, John was a pawn that he was trying to cushion to. To get to his good side and use him until his soul combusts into nothingness. With the way John's unfavourable behaviour was excused with a laugh and reasons that dripping with nothing but lies rouse suspicion. He wanted to trap his son's head and shank it off with a blade but refused as he had many, many uses of him, to exploit all that he has.

His Majesty had to retire soon, but Paul believed he was not ready to give a clear Throne to his son with the way he acts. There was something more to it, and the woman with those inky strands will whisper it into their ears before he is coronated, he was sure. It's possible that she is the spanner in the works, she could be the brains in the operation while the King was the figurehead.

As the Prince's most trusted confidant, he had to make sure he could read the two and quash their plans before they are executed, and before the Prince does something that could get them in trouble.

"What'ya think of that woman there?"

Paul glanced up, not noticing he was playing with his fingers curled on his lap and avoiding John's gaze.

"She reads us too well."

Those eyes of hers had him shivering like a leaf in the Autumn chills. They couldn't veil themselves too much for she would see that there is something underneath it all, and they couldn't spill all the details to her for it could incriminate them both. While Paul had no plans of his own about how the Kingdom should be regulated, John does. His current job was to see that he gets what he wants.

To allow nothing to stand in the Prince's way.

"She's not smarter than you, though."

And to that, the younger boy's eyes stared at the Prince.

"I am only a pint compared to her, John."

He was grateful that he didn't quip back at him, but with the way he furrowed his brow and shifted his lips to the side, Paul figured John didn't believe that she was better than him. That belief had him wanting to try harder, to keep up against her despite knowing their difference in power and fortitude.

For the Prince, he has to try going up against a dragon with nothing but a stick in his hand.

"What about dad?"

"His Majesty?"

"Yeah, why's he trying to cozy up to me now?" there was a roar that was left in his heart. A cry of a child that he hushed due to the unnecessity, but Paul could hear it all. It was written on his face, his soft yet firm face.

"Two possible answers. One, he wants to make up for his mistake thirteen years ago, or two, he wants to use you by pretending to care for you." He knew that was an answer John wanted to hear. No way was he going to accept that his father was ready, willing and able to love without any condition. That, Paul could understand, and agree to, but with a grain of salt.

"What am I supposed to do for tomorrow?" The Prince asked after a moment of allowing the atmosphere speak in their place. It was just the first day they were in the Castle, they didn't have enough information to make strong assumptions upon. They couldn't fill themselves with doubt and skepticism. If he was going to play the kind man, then they should take it with a smile.

"That banquet... you're meeting the Princess of the Powell Kingdom."

"I don't want to meet her yet."

The young boy heaved a sigh, resisting a laugh when he caught the Prince balancing a quill on his upper lip.

"You don't want to do many things, John."

The quill slipped off his lip as he shifted his head to meet Paul's gaze.

"I wasn't given much of a choice for anything, was I?" it was his turn to sigh when the young boy didn't catch on. "I was never asked to be born, but here I am. I didn't ask to be separated from my parents, but my da' figured it was his best idea. Did I ever ask to be arranged to some Princess I have no idea about? Or be living with my Aunt and have a baby-faced kid teach me what my Mummy's supposed to?"

When he frowned, the Prince placed the quill back on his upper lip, keeping it in place by puckering it up. 

“Time with you wasn’t bad though.” 

And the Squire didn’t want to answer, didn’t want to voice out anything that could ruin the mood that the Prince created, but with the way he retracted the bad sentiment, the way he was trying to pick out something good within all that wasn’t, he was waiting for an answer of some sort.

“Time with you is not half bad, either.”

That tender smile that made its way around the Prince’s face was worth it.

\--

As soon as the Squire stepped out of the Prince's chambers for a little favour of letting him turn in for the night, he almost bumped into the woman they were holding the eyes of scrutiny to. That woman with those black pools that submerged all in her way, who read all that was lingering within, a serpent that had the boy seek constant caution towards.

While she was petite and needed a glance down upon to see her face, her inky strands were something that were difficult to miss. If Paul was quoting a character of a fairy-tale, she resembled an old witch whose house was in the deep forest, hidden in the leaves and animals that pranced around it.

It was entirely possible that she was an orphan of Strawberry Fields, that assumption suddenly weaving its way in his mind at the thought of her in a forest far away.

It was impolite to stare in shock at the woman who made no motion of dismissal.

"Lady Ono, my apologies for bumping into you."

Did she notice him? He didn't find her glance meeting his until he spoke. Her small but deep coal eyes hovering up in mild surprise. It was dim-lit in the halls of the Kingdom as all were returning to their posts and retiring for the night, to have one in the halls in these hours was not a common occurrence. Yet somehow, he had a little expectation that she knew he was there. It was still his first day, it was not unforeseeable that he wouldn't know the hours of lights out and when the attendants must be in their quarters.

His attention drifted back to the woman currently in front of him.

"It is quite alright."

How he couldn't read her was agitating. If he wanted to make every whim of the Prince alive, he had to know every obstacle to the course. If he couldn't tell her intentions from the get-go, it would be detrimental to him.

"Do you wish to speak with His Highness?"

He was treading on thin ice; he could practically see the cracks when they come with a step of his foot. One slip was all he needed for her to ensnare him and John.

But he had to ask as she was standing in front of the iron doors leading to the Prince's chambers.

"I thought of.. but there is something I want to ask of you, Sir Paul."

His mind caught sight of the flags rolling in. Coming down, coming down.

"What is it?"

Oh, he was ready for the bomb-shell moment where she—

"You are Paul McCartney...?"

"You would know.. you're His Majesty's Advisor..." he simply lowered his brows, avoiding her gaze in respect. He didn't want to show an innocent woman, an outsider to his dilemma the rooted pain and anger at the savages who taken his family down. It wasn't she who ordered their slaughter, who knows her family met a fate similar to his, and she was offered prestige for her knowledge. "You must be the sole reason I am still living."

When hazel meet obsidian, he only met questioning eyes. Her thin lips appeared to frown, and a finger ran around her curling hair. For one so possible to be the biggest threat in his life, she didn't hold that formidable presence as she started off with. Perhaps his cynicism threw her off guard for a moment, it had himself in a slight surprise as well.

"You are alive by your own achievements.." The boy's brows raised a bit upon seeing hers furrow down, placid and inquisitorial.

Was she upset in him? It wasn't often he would earn a negative reaction for boasting on the goodwill of the one who enforces laws to assist people in their day to day lives... Compliments, cheers of admiration and applause were the first things they wanted to hear. A review of sorts.

"I didn't mean to ask to garner praise from you."

"Ah, once again my apologies."

"It is besides the fact, but I too, am new to all this..." She smiled small.

"New to this position?" The surprise he couldn't hold back earnt a laugh from her. With blinking eyes, he watched as she raised her hand to cover her mouth as she let out a giggle.

It wasn't an easy position to hold and to switch around.. surely the old Advisor made a mistake of heresy that caused their old position to be given to an immigrant woman. In fact, it was a big fact to gape about. How did a person who had not a lick of English background be bestowed with one of the highest positions in the Kingdom? Moreover, a woman without a lick of English blood in her veins.

For all that Paul knew, society of this kind disdained a woman in authority. _Who did she think she was?_ They would say. She was living the life he wanted Aunt Mimi to have had she be in his Kingdom.

And that was considering Aunt Mimi is a thoroughbred of the English, yet all she had was a Fortress in the middle of nowhere. The Queen was quickly dismissed due to a supposed crime that the Squire had yet to figure out. She didn't have the intention of harming the Prince when they crossed roads, and yet...

"I meant to ask if you've told John of who you are."

The switch in the subject rid Paul of any interest in conversing. If it was one to discover the woman—Miss Ono's character, he was happy to listen, but give her information? Not too happy about that..

"Does he need to know?"

Was it going to change his life with informing of who he used to be? Logically speaking, there should not a change in his lifestyle whether he was known as a fallen Prince or not, he was no higher than an attendant after the mantle has been used for firewood and spoils to enjoy.

When he received no reply, he let the frustration shut his eyes and close to the world.

"I am simply his teacher and someone who will stand by him until he dismisses me."

He was hoping the Prince was not at the door, trying to peer and listen in on them. Knowing his lack of tact, he wouldn't be getting up from his place on the bed with the books Paul had given him to read and take notes upon. But finding himself too difficult around the strange woman, he bit his lip before he could snap any further. She wasn't to blame for her sense of curiosity. She wasn't trying to lynch him, she wasn't going to plot a murder scheme to get to the Prince.

She was getting to know the one who was left in the dark for a decade or some years. It was only understandable she was bewildered that even the boy who was by his side every day, getting to know the Prince kept inklings of himself tucked in a box and sunk into the sea.

"You are friends with him." The woman's statement had him resist a bitter laugh. "Friends share all that it is about them, even what is deep inside of them.."

"Do you share everything to your friends?" he bit his tongue for being so coy on his first one-on-one with the woman who could easily slice his head clean off his neck for his insolence, but he didn't receive anything that showed disturbance. She didn't mind his question, and he couldn't be more grateful.

She only gave a smile for an answer. Paul returned the smile, albeit with uncertainty. He couldn't keep scowling at her if he wanted to keep her out of his and John's hair. If he wanted to help John surpass his father, he needed to get along with her, build trust in each other so she wouldn't turn her back on him.

"I don't want him to pity me..."

"Why would he pity you?"

Opening his eyes, he met her gaze.

"Wouldn't you if your friend was supposed to be something you've become?"

When he met with silence, he gave her a little smile.

"Just don't tell him anything I told you."

She nodded, appearing to be holding a harsh breath in thought. It was in relief when she released it, almost murmuring shyly.

"I've been wanting to know what happened. Pardon my intrusion upon your life."

"What happened?" he couldn't simply leave her alone and keep it vague, couldn't he? He was falling straight into her finger, twirling more and more, defeated by his own morbid wondering. "They're dead by a raid, and that's that."

"Yes, but wouldn't you want to know the names of those who've taken the ones of your family?"

Was she speaking out of experience? Out of the feeling that they were sailing in the same boat? Or was it out of fear that they would strike here next.. he couldn't read those deep eyes despite the warmth radiating from it. Could he.. should he really be confiding it all to her? What was she to do with that information?

More than anything else, he would want to avenge his parents, give them proper burials, visit them every day to ask them of their days spent in freedom under the wings of Heaven. More than anything else living, he wanted to get to who had done a heinous crime to his family and people who were burnt in the process, those who were traded off and subject to tortures he does not want to imagine.

And that was stating the fact that he got off easily. He was found by John's father's men in one of their patrols and answered a couple of questions, then was given supplies and sent to John and Aunt Mimi. He wasn't beaten to the ground by them, he wasn't spat upon, mocked, humiliated by the King.

Unlike his people, he was offered compassion in exchange for all that he knew. He was given the chance to offer this wisdom to the son of the King. The son!

He couldn't think of his own needs and dig his own grave before he dies in the King and his son's names. He wouldn't be able to hold the Prince's mantle if his own was stained red. They would lay it all out on the Prince, killing his purpose as his protector. Paul was not selfish enough to do that, no matter how much his heart cried for his family.

He needed to resolve that when his duty concludes.

"I do, but I do not intend to step away from my duty to His Highness."

"I understand, it hasn't anything to do with His Highness.."

What was she implying..?

"We should return to our quarters. For taking so much of your time, pardon me."

Blinking a couple of times in an attempt to stomach what had transpired between them, he found her stepping to the opposite direction as he. Finding that it was going to end as this, he turned on his heel, casting his gaze back at her. There was still something too... out of place within all that was shared among the two.

"Um, mind me asking why you're interested in figuring it out? It happened years and years ago."

Turning a bit, she glanced to and fro before answering him.

"Because of how strangely sudden it was.. even if it was years ago."

And with that, they parted ways. His eyes couldn't leave the spot she was last standing, trying to connect the dots that refused to come together.

He couldn't get a wink of sleep that night.

\--

Perhaps he did get a blink of sleep.

At least, a couple of minutes. That had to be why he was caught almost screaming when just a couple of inches away from his face was the Prince, glancing with wide eyes and a smile so mischievously long, it sure was enough to knock one off their bed.

"John! What're you doing here?"

"Wakin' ye up, of course!"

"Well, I'm up." He couldn't help but smile back. It was just adorable how the Prince came all the way from his Chambers to him, despite being fond of sleeping till the sun didn't shine. Here he was, at 7 in the morning, hands on the sides of the Squire's bed and smiling down at him as if he had nothing but sugar in his system.

Maybe this was a boy impersonating the Prince. There was no way he could be this active in the early hours.

"What's up, Johnny?"

It was a little difficult to sit up and hop off his bed when the Prince's hands pressed on each side and his face had no effort to retreat.

"Just waitin' for ye to get up. We've got a lot to do!"

"Really, like what?"

"All sorts of things that you've always done for me, now come on Paulie bunny." Ah, how long was it when the Prince referred to him with a ridiculous name as that? The first few days that they met he used to refer him to many strange names, that one not staying. How did he remember it now?

How sheepishly cute he looked, grinning at him and expecting him to be up.

"Okay, then shove over. I can't help you if you're this close to me." He had a lop-sided grin to match with John's, hands slipping out of the covers to remove the ones blocking the road.

"Where's your sense of finesse? Surely ye can't tell the Prince himself to 'shove over'..."

"You're the Prince? Shoot... I thought you were the big bad wolf Johnny." To emphasize his mock-shock, his eyes were blown wide and he let the fakest gasp of fright.

"...You've seen through my disguise! Now I can't let you get out unscathed, Paulie bunny!" The Prince sneered at his lack of effort, tempted to rest his hands on his hips and tickle him to oblivion, but having never done that, he wasn't sure if the Squire was alright with such action.

Bonds were very fragile, no matter how far they are cultivated. He didn't want to snap the string.

"Oh no, whatever shall I do..."

The Prince wasn't disturbed by the Squire's dismissive nature, that's just who he was. He held people very, very close to his heart, that was the reason for his need to keep them at a safe distance, so no one could exploit him and the one he loved.

John was very much used to Paul's ways, and he couldn't ask him to be more affectionate than he was. They are not lovers, and there was a nigh chance they would be permitted to. Not with the way the world works.

Had he been born a commoner, he would be able to take the Squire's hand and run off into Strawberry Fields, build their own nest and be one. Such a life is not one for a Prince, they said.

He couldn't be thinking about that boy when today is the day he will meet the one he was to be arranged to. John didn't have anything against women, in fact, they were often gorgeous, drop dead gorgeous as well. It was a surprise he didn't up and have a fling with one, knowing the kind of jovial boy he could be. In fact, he hasn't spoken to a girl, he's only been around old women of markets, of relatives...

Aunt Mimi was not an example of a fine woman per see, but a great mother. The very thing Aunt Mimi was an amazing figure for, was something John did not want to be. John is no father, and he couldn't possibly be one any time sooner. Perchance, it was Paul's fault that he hadn't been around any woman his age or slightly older, making out in a place not many people would consider. Then again, Paul was a lad, there were chances where he wanted to...

John snorted a chuckle at the thought of Paul being too active in the sense of.. well, y'know. What set him off his thoughts was the boy sitting up and running a hand across his hair with the comb that never left his sight.

"Humblest apologies, I'm still sleeping."

Did it appear like he was laughing at his sad attempt on straightening himself out in front of the Prince? Whoops...

"In the end, we all could be sleepin' this whole life." John stepped aside to let him hop off the bed and to the restroom. When Paul slung the pair of clothes resting on the chair in front of the table laying across the window, John felt his eyes travel to him.

"Maybe we should let off the philosophy bits from your lessons.." he commented with a smile that didn't meet his eyes, almost uncertain of something. John supposed it was one of the first few times he has actually frightened Paul. That boy didn't show fear as comically and often masked it with placidity or a rational frown, but John figured there is always something that one may dislike. Indirect snide remarks on death shook that resolve from him.

For some reason, it didn't seem as the general fear of death and dying, but more of a bitter memory etching its way back into his sights and blinding him. Even with his limited vision, he could sense the discomfort in his figure, the smile that was twitching from the corners, reluctance in his stiff figure that often stood tall and elegantly.

"I thought ye'd agree though. Besides, philosophy's a good subject."

That little moment of hesitation, that slackening of his figure was gone and replaced with that guarded aura he carried everywhere he went. To add to the current calm, his smile grew.

"It is a great subject, I think so too, y'know," walking away, his eyes shifted to the window, John following his gaze out of instinct. He continued then, "but John.. talking about death so lightly isn't the best."

"But we all die eventually, keeping it under a rug is pretty much moot."

Paul's eyes met his, and what John didn't expect to find in those doe eyes was intrigue.

"Well, that is right, no kidding.." there was something more in the look of his eyes that John couldn't read. It was that moment where it all seemed too blurry for him to understand. Despite the proximity, he was so far away from Paul. Did he even know of the first detail about him other than the sweet, polite and courteous character he's shown himself to be? Was John that desperate to have a friend that he didn't mind being tangled in a web that the boy laced?

Did he know anything of the real Paul? The Paul that was possibly tucked into a coffin and buried in his heart, away from the world for its ugliness.

No... Paul was no liar and one for deceit. If he was hiding something, it was only because it was too painful to let out. There was a chance that he didn't want to gander pity around him, he didn't want people to be treating him differently. He's proven time and time that he stood up for himself, never falling even when he wanted to.

Men were never allowed to fall down and weep. That was a bird's job, they were told. Holding John's hand was exceeding what a male would typically do. Kissing his forehead would attract the wrong kind of attention if he's ever done it in the vicinity of anyone who was not John. Paul was at a disadvantage as it was.

There were too many who couldn't tell if he really was a lad. Heck, it wouldn't shock John if he heard that they believed him to be a eunuch. He didn't even know if Paul had a pair under, he never had it in him to ask or address it, even when he had business to handle with it.

If Paul didn't want to share information that plunged pikes down his heart, then John wouldn't ask. It was the best he could do. Paul never invaded in his personal space, why should he?

"Tread lightly on topics as that, who knows who you could accidentally offend." He was never more grateful for the sweet smiles from the boy than he was in this moment. He didn't care if Paul didn't truly care for him, at least for a time being, he showed that he did.

He just hoped it would last until they're old.

For now, he was not going to be the skeptic and accept it, believe that Paul genuinely loved him. There was no way those eyes could lie, and he's felt warmth and kindness in every step Paul's taken with him.

If he was offended, he had the right to correct him. It showed that he was watching over him, the Paul way of caring. The kind that has often successfully caught John longing for.

"Right... sorry."

"Don't be, just be careful."

If Paul truly disdained him, he wouldn't be this forgiving.

The Squire splashed cold bouts of water upon his face, staring at the mirror with wide eyes.

Why was it that he was so bitter to the Prince? It wasn't his fault that he didn't sleep enough to rid of the bitterness of the night that passed him by. It wasn't even the woman's fault that he kept thinking of his parents, that cruel deed that happened so long ago and yet, felt like yesterday.

The nightmares that clouded his vision and dimmed the light in his eyes were a reminder of what his life was. They've never stopped no matter how many times Aunt Mimi's encouragement returned to him, no matter how much John revolved around him, taking away the rues of his little brother not playing around with him. It was his life, he couldn't forget those revolting people who came in with silver weapons and clads of armour, knocking down torches and burning all that was his family's. He couldn't forget the night where his life was cast aside, where he was dead alive.

If anything, he was eternally grateful that John's family held such a big heart for him. His father for extending his hand and giving him a new life that poured the lives of these servants to shame, John who was the closest to an older brother to him and an amazing friend, and Aunt Mimi for being the mother he missed too much. He was grateful for all chances he was given, and even now grateful that the King allowed him to breathe for a while longer.

For now, more than ever, he wanted to live.

He wanted to live for John, to see him realize his dream and make it a reality. With his mother's arms enveloped around him, he knew he had to stand with him every step of the way, no matter how bothersome it may be. For John, he wanted to be able to do everything that he wanted, stay true to him. With his father's strength and tall stance, he knew he had to be the one who took the backlash for any possible action that didn't sit well with the King.

Those deeds of the future that John will commit.

Then why... why was he behaving in such a manner in front of the very person he wants to spend eternity with? For what reason did he project that anger he has upon the bastards who took his parents' lives away onto the curious woman and sweetly ignorant Prince?

He threw handfuls of water at his face again. _Get it together, Paul! Don't take it out on John.. not Johnny..._

Gnawing hard on his lower lip, his hands chilled and still dripping with the water from the faucet clenched around the sides of the sink bowl, fingers digging deep to try and crack holes into the porcelain. Unable to glare down at himself, look him in the eyeballs, he let his head dip down as if it was too heavy to hold up, shoulders slumping with him.

He couldn't do this to John. Not to John who no one but Aunt Mimi accepted as her own. Paul may have lost his parents, but at least he knew they _loved him till the bitter end_ —he even knew his little brother, mischievous and teasing he was, loved him dearly. He wouldn't blame the infant for feeling betrayed that his big brother couldn't protect him.

John, on the other hand had no clue what love even meant, how it was supposed to feel. Was he needed? Did anyone care if he left the world? Would anyone care if he cried and begged for someone, anyone, to give him that touch only parents could give? For him, he wouldn't be able to tell the difference between an obsession and affection, so long as he felt that it gave him purpose. His parents couldn't bother loving him for thirteen years, and only this year he's seeing not only his mother, but also his father wanting to make it up to him.

How could he know they are not only trying to use him like a puppet, knowing John was sensitive to that very sentiment? He was a perfect target. The perfect child to exploit to its fullest.. and if Paul was able to see that, who knew what his parents would do to him. What that woman would do to him.

He shook his head, taking a breath in a pace of one who has breathed for too long. More than ever, he needed to protect John, and that, he will do. There was no time to stand in a restroom, trying to break the sink and resist the need to spill his life out.

It was after they had their morning breakfast that they resumed their day to day activities. John wasn't wrong when he mentioned the list of things to prepare for. It was the night of the banquet, hosted by this Kingdom, welcoming both his son and the Princess of the Powell family. The Powell family were travelling all the way from Scotland to England, they couldn't make new arrangements, even if John was not ready, or wasn't feeling good.

To make sure he was tip-top shape was Paul's responsibility. If he made a slip-up, there was no one else to point the finger to than Paul.

Of course, that wasn't the motive to have the Prince succeed. That was only the cherry on top of the pint. The Squire could care less if he was to be punished for a nervous handshake from the Prince, or a stutter when he commences his speech, or his incorrect posture when he takes the Princess for a dance.

He just wanted John to enjoy himself while he was bound to the rules of etiquette.

In the Prince's Chambers they were once more, with the Squire dabbling notes onto a leaflet with the black quill, crossing out lines that were a bit redundant or pretentious as the Prince was adjusting his cape with a sigh.

"I can't believe that I wanted to dress like this when I was younger."

The Squire glanced up at him, setting his quill into the glass jar of ink, lips shifting into a friendly smile as he admired the Prince. While he understood that it was not the best if he was an adventurer or an attendant, but he was stunning as a being of authority, the one who only needs to wave his hand and stare down his peers.

"But you look great, John."

He received a side-long stare from almond eyes.

"Honest! You look amazing, like a true Prince."

"Damnit Paulie, why'd ye have to say that so causally?" his cheeks dusted with a rosy tint, having the Squire resist a giggle. Golly, he was adorable when he got all bashful, so child-like as he once was. Moments where that broad, confident and hard-headed boy fell back to that truly sensitive and tender boy he is was best. This face of the Prince that was only visible to the Squire and no one more as the world was not ready for him to hold him if he falls back.. it filled his heart with a fondness, a need to keep him enclosed and away from the cruel place called the world.

"Because it's true?"

"Then why answer that with another question?" seeing the Prince drop the cape as if it was the most revolting piece of cloth in the world had Paul bite his tongue. Don't laugh... don't laugh.

"Because it's funny?"

"Goddamnit.." the Prince rolled his eyes, kneeling down to reach for the repulsive cape he needed around his shoulders. The Squire kept a smile, keeping his gaze upon the cape that was forgiven for its disgusting nature and draped around the broad shoulders of the supposed proud Prince. "What're ye doing there anyway, writin' a will there?"

The playful smile that dressed the Squire's face shifted into a smaller one, raising his brows to have him repeat himself.

"Are ye writing a will, Paulie?"

"Should I be writing a will?" John resisted a frown. Where was Paul's sense of belief coming from? Was it because he was the one who was teaching all that John knew? Or was it something more... something like a natural talent for doing well.

Surely, John lacked that.

"In case I screw up, y'know."

Those blinking eyes told the Prince that he didn't comprehend the possibility of failure. The dip of his head to the side, the wandering eyes assessing any possible goof-up but drawing blank...

Paul's body really spoke some truths. It was adorable.

"There's nothing you'd really 'screw up' on, y'know," he lifted the leaflet from the hardcovered book he had it resting upon, "this is only something for your reference. I'm trying to jot down what you might have to talk about in your speech."

"But I could just free hand that, no?"

Then his smile curved into a wry one.

"If you want to risk both families giving you the stinker, then yes."

"I'll make a really bad one, wouldn't I?" he returned the gesture, smiling but finding the need to sigh in disappointment.

"No, just unfiltered." And every time Paul had to refute his statement and cushion it into a cute little goof, he was grateful. He wasn't sure where he would be if Paul wasn't as supportive as he was.

The trust he sought, and he found in him.

"Thanks."

He couldn't help but find the need to word it aloud. He wanted Paul to know how he was thankful for all that he has given to him within their short lives. The little boy who could've left him at any time of the day, week, month, year, hours even, and still hadn't. That boy who gave him the care he needed to carry on, the reason to keep breathing, to keep fighting. This boy whose made him strong when he was feeling weak, clearing the rocky path to let him cross..

For being his best friend and so far, his most trusted confidant in this labyrinth, this zoo where he is nothing but a flashy exhibit.

"No need. It's my job."

To be as strong as Paul would be a spectacle. While he didn't know much about his upbringing and his old lifestyle, those hazel eyes that never lost its maturity told John of the many circumstances he has met and come above. Knowing that much was enough for him. He didn't have to know the whole story until that boy lets it all out.

He only hopes that he would be able to help him carry whatever weight that it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit short this is, but I did find the content a little heavier than usual. Too much would be a headful.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading~


	16. A Royal Banquet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: What does Yoko really want to do? Is it any worth looking into Paul's background?
> 
> Also, holy. I've written half this chapter a month ago and then.. so sorry for such a long wait. That was not intentional nor planned, but within that month, I filled a sketchbook full of doodles, some are posted on Twitter, and some on Tumblr, both by the way are the same username: AmareinMortis. 
> 
> At this moment, writing this was difficult, so I'm not sure when I'll finish the next, but hopefully soon to finally get this off. Till then, I hope you enjoy this segment.
> 
> "--" is present time, and "-x-" for past in this chapter.

\--

He couldn't help but wonder why they were allowed such privacy.

If it was a very important night for the Prince and the entire Kingdom, why was a newcomer to the Castle allowed to prepare the Prince alone? Surely, they shouldn't be trusting a friend who, in the public eye, has no position in the Kingdom to be handling the Prince, a delicacy who is the rise or fall of the Kingdom's future.

Paul didn't quite understand why they were alright with him helping out John, and not the woman—Miss Ono or Sir Epstein do it. Come to think of it, where was Sir Epstein and Sir Martin? He was certain they were going to appear to give a helping hand. Were they currently training in one of the Royal Courtyards?

He knew he shouldn't be pondering too much upon it before he causes a jynx, but he couldn't help but feed that gnawing in his stomach, that sense of oddity, that skepticism that was burning him on the inside. Why wasn't there anyone who would barge in suspicious of the young Squire who was now the Prince's attendant and not slain the moment he led the Prince back to his home?

Well, more like returned the Prince to his prison.

What was the King planning to do with John? What was it about the King that Paul did have a small need to keep a watchful eye upon? Why was he alright with him staying here? An hour should've been enough, not days. Why wasn't he dismissing him, informing him that his job was now complete, and he had to either swear silence for until he dies, or straight up discard him?

Why was allowed to be so close to the Prince? Was he a tool too? A tool for what?

He bit his lip another time.

"Paulie, if ye keep doing that, it's going to swell and tear."

Snapping his face up, he met the caring brown eyes of the Prince who was reading over the notes that the Squire gave. For the biting he's done on his lips, it was a surprise they weren't bruised and chapped. Okay, a little chapped, but nothing more.

"Sorry.. I was just thinking."

The Prince only gave a smile, stepping up closer to the Squire who leant on the bed, and poked his forehead.

"Then stop thinking."

He blinked owlishly, and the Prince barked out a gentle laugh, wrapping his arms around his torso.

"There we go. That's all you need to do, Paulie. Relax.. breathe."

Keeping a glance at the Prince helped realization tap into his mind. He must've been showing that inner fray of his emotions on the surface, biting his lip and fingers more than usual, flicking gazes at every possible angle as if something were to rip out of the fabric, or tear the walls down on them.

How comical that must've seemed.

"I'm relaxing, I'm breathing."

"What were ye thinking about?" the Prince ignored his reassurance, creeping up closer and eyeing the bead of sweat rolling down the Squire's cheek. "Don't tell me 'nothing important' because ye wouldn't be fidgeting that much."

"It's really not much..." He gnawed a finger. "Just the fact that His Majesty left it to me to help you prepare."

At this, he raised a brow.

"I don't see you preparing my—" he pointed at his behind, and Paul gaped at him, cheeks flushed.

"Wow John, just wow."

"'m serious. Ye aren't preparing me, you're just helping me get ready to be beat down by daddy-kins."

"You're a dirty minded boy." Paul shook his head, glancing away from John who had a long smile in accomplishment. Finally, he got him to react more than what he often got.

"But it's true!"

"It is not!" The younger boy exclaimed with a laugh, knowing the Prince was not at all serious with his silly musing.

"Besides, it depends if you have a pair down there. With that bird's face, I doubt it."

John received a playful slap on his shoulder by a laughing Paul.

"Don't go thinking I'm a woman, John."

"But with that slap you just did, how can't I?"

"Honestly..." Despite the roll of his eyes, Paul was nothing but appreciative of John's antics. It settled the nerves that were beginning to spike up at the thought of too many possibilities, consequences for risks that will be taken, the likelihood that nothing can change no matter how many spanners they throw in. The King has a trump card that will render them both helpless, they won't be able to do a thing to repel his forces. It was only their second day in the Kingdom, what can they do with just the two of them? There were too many defenders who built a wall so strong that they won't get through until they fight it with their own.

Nothing may have been impossible, but progress was going to take a lot of their time.

It was just nice to have someone as the Prince who also had insecurities but knew how to make a joke. Those jokes may have been improper projections of his inner doubts, he could see them taking a worse form than the soft little quips he spits out, but they were helpful in setting the mind aside and focusing on his abrasive nature.

"I think you should keep your speech short."

The Prince reached for the paper that nestled on the boy's lap, skimming through it before giving an odd glance at him. Wasn't the speech supposed to be about how honoured he was to be brought home by his father, how he's willing to train and become the best Prince there ever was, courting the prettiest, dainty little bird and make her his Queen till death do them part?

Some wishy-washy bullcrap that he had to pretend it was a genuine proclamation. Boy, he would have to make sure he wouldn't let out a gag in between.

"How short?"

"Well.. I was thinking we could keep away sappy things because they will know you're lying."

Thank Christ for Paul.

"I should pretend I can't say it all because I'm so overwhelmed?"

The boy's eyes widened with a slow nod.

"Yeah! Something like.. 'the immensity in my heart I would love to voice out, but not a single word that exists could convey it' sort of thing." Snagging the paper that the Prince was about to throw onto the floor, he made quick notes on it, scribbling with the quill in the speed of an eager child who needed to catch their fleeting thoughts in a net to prevent from flying off, drifting into the wind.

"I know you're not up for this but try to pitch your voice to make that illusion of enthusiasm and true love." He added with a sheepish smile, knowing that he too, didn't want to partake in any of this. Maybe in another life...

In another life, he would've been overjoyed to sling his arm around a girl so gorgeous and begin a family. In another life, he probably would've been around too many women to count, possessing a silver tongue and sweet smiles, and a truly kind heart under his jovial antics. In another life, he would've taken John's place and court this woman, but in this one... he was in an agreement.

He wanted no woman or partner more than what he has with John: companionship.

"I'll give it a try," the Prince gave his attention to the mirror to see if he was fastening his cape on correctly, finding it drooping down on one side. Rather than giving a sloppy image, it gave a shy outlook, modest under the proud regality he was under. "Um, what else am I going to do today?"

The Squire trailed off for a moment, and the Prince frowned at the thought of too many up his plate for the night.

"Well, you'd be doing a speech in front of the people, that's out of the way... you would be asked to dance in the ballroom with the Princess," his eyes travelled to the leaflet on the bed. "They would want you to try and get to know the Princess, and at the near end of the day, when you both dine together, you would have a meeting with the Powell family."

"What would happen then?"

"You'd be with your father and Lady Ono, discussing what you want out of the alliance that would be formed with the wedding of you and the Princess."

Paul couldn't understand why John's face paled, as if he didn't want to get married.

"How long until I get married to this bird?"

"We don't know, but it might be in a couple of years. You and she will decide that." Perhaps he was quite naïve, but he wasn't quite sure where it could turn out to be something bad. If the woman was a reasonable one, they could wed without trouble, and if she was not suitable, he had the right to refuse the marriage. If the Powell could not provide strength, the deal was off.

Perhaps the Prince was afraid that he would simply marry due to a political obligation. There was no love when it was for the betterment of power, of the eternal conquest for more and more to keep from any invaders from taking over.

Then again... there was not a lot to gain in terms of supremacy when his father married his mother. Rather, he found peace in her, and she found safety in him. Perhaps, that was why in the face of battle, they were beaten.

"Paulie?"

"What?" he blinked once in question.

"Ye were spacing out again."

How could he tell?

"Sorry.."

"No need, 'was just asking if ye would be there with us when they discuss the political aspects of the relationship."

How he would love to tell those pleading eyes that he will be there for him every step of the way... he knew he couldn't. It was only him, his father and probably Lady Ono since she is their political Advisor. She is the one who has to make the most evaluations if the marriage could work or it should be set aside. Paul was nothing more than a knave in their eyes, he couldn't possibly sit in the same seating as those of higher classes.

With Lady Ono recognizing him as that McCartney survivor, he was afraid of how many more would notice. He was still not willing to let people know since it would change their perspective of him—not that it would change much. It wouldn't change anything to a high extent, that much he knew, but it would entice others to either treat him with pity or laugh in his face. Neither, he was willing to hear.

Besides, who knew what history the McCartney had. One of the lessons Paul could not teach John very well was one he couldn't come across, a scab in his heart that he didn't dare touch due to the pain and fear of a cardiac arrest: history. This went for any course of history. He was afraid to find out the lineage of all those around him, predeceasing him and those who will emerge from the roots implanted.

If he researched the history of one Dukedom, one Kingdom, he would have to reach into all of them, including his own. He wasn't ever sure if he was willing to dig through it, even now he couldn't without finding himself repressing pangs of thorns, of lances and tridents piercing through his body and refusing to let him lay down and die.

It was a floodgate he was covering up with bricks that kept falling. By his hand or others.

When it came to John's lessons, he vaguely hid the subject altogether, in glee that he was not curious as he too, had a scar he didn't want to mess around with. And unlike Paul, John was living it in the current day: living with the man who left him, who couldn't love him to watch him grow until he was dolled up by his Aunt and teacher.

"As much as you and I would want that, you know I can't." running his teeth on his lower lip, he pressed his lips in a wry smile to the Prince, reminding them of the limitations—visible limitations they had in their plans for the future.

"So, I'm going to be with Da' and that witchy lady." It was a question but voiced as a blatant statement as the Prince's voice lowered to a murmur of discontent and struck with the nerves. If they were able to make drastic changes within such a short time, it would not be helpful to either of them. Ever see how if a project goes perfectly well in the first go? There was always that one mistake that causes it all to crumble.

If he and John took over the Kingdom in less than a year's time, their enemies would grow. They needed about two to lower suspicion that could grow upon them. Paul had to be the one to remember how they were standing on thin ice as it was, that layer of ice as thin and frail as the shell of an egg, small as a baby, and vulnerable as a child. He had to make sure none of his own actions nor John's cause a crack within it.

"I would rather hope the Princess is reasonable than think of changing this place, John."

"But we can do that, can't we? Change this place so that people could dwell easier.."

The Squire couldn't help but blink at that. They had no evidence of anyone truly struggling under the King's reign than John and his mother. He was not one of the few who were suffering—no, he was a spanner in the works, given very high privilege for one of small status and age.

"We'll need the public word first, if they are dissatisfied, you could make a move when they ask you of your tasks as Prince."

The Squire stood up from the bed to make adjustments to the Prince's robe, straightening the soft cloth a bit before letting it slip down over his left side. He really was a beautiful image of a Prince, a great contrast to the snarky and adorable little boy he once was. Handsomeness accented every feature of his, boldness in his shy almond eyes, the radiance of his auburn hair that swept over his head, soft as a field. That lovingly tender heart nestled and protected by his strong body, healthy enough to encourage it to never cease holding care.

Truly beautiful, John is.

"Hey Paulie," the boy glanced up from the clothes he was adjusting with a small smile, "do I have to love this Princess bird?"

"That would depend on you. There is such thing as marriage without love."

"I don't want to hurt her if she's good.." The Squire's smile softened more at his lament. Here was an example of the caring and sweet John he was admiring, accentuated as true and small as possible.

"If you don't love her, don't give her a false hope to have her insinuate that you do."

The Prince's eyes met his, larger hand enveloping around his and closing with a gentle squeeze.

"I will have to dance with her," he inched closer to the Squire who didn't step back despite their closeness. He merely held a breath, not wanting to spit it onto the Prince who he adored greatly.

"Whisper sweet nothings into her ear," as he explained this, he leant his head near the younger's shoulder, mumbling into his ear, "and kiss her when she asks me to."

_What if I think about you when I do all this?_

"What are you trying to say, John?" his query came in a breathless motion, having stood so close to John, he could almost hear the beats of his heart, so vigorous yet nervous, the pulse in his hand winking, tapping quicker and quicker. "You will love her when you meet her, I'm sure of it."

"I know, but I..."

.

..

...

**\--**

When it was near the evening, the Prince trudged through the marble halls of the lavish Kingdom. His Squire, his close companion paced with him but a couple of steps back. Sir Martin spoke to the younger boy, holding him back as Sir Epstein joined in, apparently informing the Squire of what was expected of the Banquet—nothing he didn't already know, but it was courtesy to listen.

While the Prince waited, he couldn't help but wonder if there was something else on the Squire's agenda in regard to how they were going to live in the Kingdom. There seemed to be a shadow hanging over him, a sort of reluctance in his elegant stance, a small bout of hesitation in his kind tone, something that held him back.

Perhaps, he was keeping a close eye for anything that could take him by surprise, but boy... he's never seen so much of the boy holing up to himself. It was reminiscent to the Paul he's seen so long ago, when they first started off. So withdrawn, gazing at others with those doe eyes that held nothing but a huddled and reserved, inhibited child who shouldn't have such a flickered glow in those eyes.

That Paul that he was able to bring into a smile, to laugh and genuinely enjoy time with Hazza, Richie, the people of the Square, Aunt Mimi... himself. His Paul was falling back into that downward spiral that he was once in when he was firstly seen, and John couldn't do anything to stop him.

For Paul hadn't displayed this sort of closed-off air when he was around him. With John, he was the same as he always was, smiling and sweet, encouraging and loving, stubborn yes, a bit obtuse and prim, but nothing that he couldn't handle. He was John's anchor, the one who would soften the hard corners when he delved into the realm of doubt.

While it was never laid out in front of him, he did have a fear of it slither after these days. There was no telling what his new obligations would do to him—would he stay the same kind, thoughtful and compassionate boy that he is? John doubted a chance of that going away any time sooner. It took an earth-shattering revelation for the boy to completely transform, that much he could be relieved of.

He didn't have to worry about a thing.

In this current day, playing the skeptic who was watching every move of the new companions and brothers-in-arms was a wise move, praised by all that the Squire knew this without a single reminder. They only returned yesterday, and he managed to convince Sir Epstein and Sir Martin that he was needed by John's side, only a day for John to force his father to keep him by his side as an Aide. How clever he was, catching the attention of even that sinewy woman who creeped out the two.

What was her name? Oh no? Whatever.

Oh, and speaking of her herself! Now she was passing by with his father, standing quite a few inches away. Gosh, he had to admit, he was relieved to know that they were not close. If he had to catch that lady his mother...

"My son," his father smiled at him, gazing at him from head to toe, "very well done. I have to thank your little friend for suiting you accordingly, don't I?"

"My Liege," the woman bowed, bending low till John could only see her hair curling around her.

"Ye, probably." He waved at his father almost dismissively, holding back a smirk as he barely gave his father the attention he was seeking. "You have my greetings too, Lady.."

Catching on him trailing on, the woman straightened herself, glancing at him with beady black eyes and pressing a hand at her chest.

"Ono. My name is Yoko Ono."

"Yoko, right. Thank you." The Prince smiled wide at her, earning a widen of Lady Ono's eyes before she offered a smile.

"Let us enter the ballroom, John." His father, not a bit bothered by his bravado of insolence, extended his gloved hand to him. Resisting a frown, he turned on his heel to walk side by side with his father, Lady Ono following behind before she waved the two off, in favour of speaking with Paul who gave Sir Martin and Sir Epstein a nod.

John turned his face as he crossed the halls with his father, eyeing his best friend's shoulder tapped by the woman and how he turned his face to face her with once again, nothing displaying on his soft face. His eyes lowered when he heard the boy heave a sigh and slip a finger into his mouth, pushing past his rosy lips in uncertainty.

Before he could hear anything more, the two were far behind.

He knew it was courtesy to take a listen to the two Knights who were trying to break the ice that had blocked their pathway to the Squire, Prince and the rest of the Kingdom Vassal. He was still new to the marble and gold labyrinth he stood in, and he greatly appreciated the adorable gesture of the Knights trying to enlighten him of everything that is to happen today and in the future.

The Banquet was a negotiation pact arranged by both families, one that would form a pact with the Wales Kingdom, that England shared a border to. Nothing was set in stone as to what direction they were heading to, but it was a tentative decision that the Prince be engaged with the Princess in order to create this Treaty between the two. It was most favourable for the two to come together and produce an heir who would be the beginning of the shared lineage.

If it did not work out, they were not fearful of the possible implication. They had many offers, suitors who were around the European continent that they could go through and find a preferable match to.

The Squire was aware of this, having told the Prince about it just hours before they were finished preparing for the night. The only new thing that was mentioned was how it was not a complete requirement. It was only a hope that John get friendly with the Wales Princess, and if he did not, they were not going to hang heads on a pike.

Then again.. it never appeared that the Lennon family were one for violence.

As the Prince was greeted by his father and Advisor, the two Knights figured it was better that the three of them not interfere nor disrupt their presences with small talk. With a nod, the Squire watched the two stand in position, bowing to the King and the Prince as they made their way to the ballroom across the halls.

Paul almost raised a brow when his eyes caught Lady Ono standing in front of him, rather than following His Majesty and his son to the ballroom.

"Lady Ono, is something amiss?"

"I wanted to let you know I skimmed through the Kingdom library to see if there was anything on your family." Her brows were tight-knit, lips set into a frown that told the Squire that there may have been news that she did not want to read in it. Who knows what they've written about his family: a failure to the nobles of the soon to be United Kingdom, the greedy big-shots who really had nothing to their name... the list could go on and on.

"What... did it say?" he wasn't even sure if he wanted to know anything that it said in fear of what was to come, what the ink spilled onto the paper, what ill name came from it.

"It is a skewed mess of rumours. There is no word set in stone the reason for the lack of.. public publication."

At least, she did not believe them the second she read what was written.

"What sorts of rumours are in it, Lady Ono." His teeth sunk a bit into a finger of his before wiping his lower lip, "I would prefer not to hear it, but this is also my family. The text you've read is what the people here have.."

"It is not good to stomach, Sir Paul." She cast a glance in the direction the Prince and his father crossed, finding them out of eyeshot, she continued, "it's rather cruel upon you."

Paul really did not want to hear it. In fact, he would rather live with the fact that people speak ill sayings behind his back rather than know what they believe in, with the way Lady Ono had a furrowed brow and nervous fingers playing in the stray strands of her hair told him enough of how petty the rumours were.

She spoke once again, heeding his silence, "I may not know you well, Sir Paul, but these rumours sound much unlike you."

"How do you know they are false?" shifting his gaze from the marble grounds, he met her eyes, blinking wide and prying.

"A simple reason, really," finally, a small smile slid upon frowning lips. "I like to believe that Prince John is no fool to trust a deceitful boy for so long."

Her answer had him raising his arched brows as he broke into giggles. Was it really all that simple?

"Who knows, perhaps His Highness is a naïve boy that I am controlling like a puppet."

He earned a roll of her eyes.

"I think it would be the opposite, Sir Paul.. John—His Highness currently has power, he will be the one pulling the strings."

"What if that's what it appears only on the surface?" it would be quite interesting to play a mind-game with her, see how far it goes in revealing her character with a subtle note on laying his own bare.

"Impossible, that's what I think."

"Why so?" while he let his smile grow just a bit, he didn't think the frown that accented her features would return. It was no time for jokes, or it was a stupid question.

"What is the merit in doing so?"

Right... stupid question.

She beckoned him to follow the Prince and the King before the two rouse suspicion with their absence. With a slow nod, he turned on his heel, walking beside the woman whom he was attempting to read just as how he was being read.

Her response was in little mutters as if she was expecting an ear or two listening in on them. He was grateful that she was making attempts on keeping it between the two and no one more.

"There is no place for you to return, there is no place you could build than His Highness' Kingdom," he leaned a little to the side to hear the hushed answer, nodding once before brushing his teeth on his lower lip. He himself had no idea who had done that crime to his family, taking it out on an innocent family would be nothing higher than trifling, imprudent and downright silly.

And the Squire had no plan for that any time sooner.

"Alright, I admit my defeat, Lady Ono."

Ah, the smile returned to her.

"It was eventual. You were beginning.. to say things that did not match your character."

At that, he stumbled on a step, smiling a bit. "What do you mean, 'did not match' my character?"

She giggled, covering her lips with a sinewy hand.

"Sir Paul, please do not ask the obvious."

Was he making it that evident that he wanted to protect the Prince?

"Yes, it is quite obvious that you will never let anyone harm the His Highness or get anywhere close to him."

She was quite successful at having him sidetracked from a point he wanted—no, needed to know about. He needed to hear the legacy of his family through the perspective of the Kingdom. If it had her frowning and furrowing her brow in anger, he had to know no matter how much it would hurt him, how it would unnerve him during this happy event.

He wasn't the one courting the Princess, he was merely going to stand in the back, watching the Prince in case he required his assistance. A bodyguard he was, damage control in any event the Prince takes this moment to cause a scene.

"Well that is true.. but let us return to what you've read, Lady Ono."

"Are you sure? I do not want set you into a foul mood during the Banquet.."

The concern she had, be it true or a mere image, poured warmth into Paul's cold heart. She too, had standards, and this tragedy that occurred to his family was not something that she could bat an eye to. She was visibly disturbed by what she had to take in by the private books in the library. There was nothing but pure disgust and utter dismay in her small and hollow features embellished in fine golds and sapphire accents.

Once again, she refused to gown herself in the maiden's glittered dresses, and sashed along her waist, the Squire's eyes caught sight of a long sword that was half her height, thin and precise.

A Rapier.

She too, was making an appearance to a joyful event prepared to protect the King and his son had one gone rogue and start a scuffle. She was on the same footing as Paul, but she had, no doubt, mighty skill in the blade that Paul lacked. To add to this, he was afraid of being caught by a poacher, holding his dagger incorrectly.

Feeling relief wash over him with the sight of the Advisor's blade, he found himself able to bear with what bad omen was marched at him as they continued treading through the long halls that hadn't met its end.

"I'll keep it in check, I promise."

A shadow of a smile slid onto her, but wryly.

"I don't mean... I don't want to be the one who causes you to frown."

"I would be frowning either way. You know why." She who knows his name, she who knows where he is from, what brought him here... "I do not want to, but I need to hear it from you."

With a sigh, her footing came to a pause, compelling the Squire to do the same, both turning to face one another.

"The books have made many rumours about them, some that I could not even consider believing."

She paused, and he allowed her all the time to gather her bearings, for he too, had to ground himself before he would snap at her or anyone else. They had to keep it short and succinct in order to catch up with the Prince.

They continued ahead.

\--

The Ballroom that they all had made their way to was truly no little place. If the Prince's chamber was as long and wide as a good half of Mendips Fortress, the Ballroom was four times its size, able to fit about 300 people if it had to. Silver tables adorned the sides with the pale blue glimmering curtains dressed over every glass window. A vast selection of food and drink sat upon these long tables, and chairs hid shy under the tables, veiled by the silken mats. The floor, marble and reflective as they were, exhibited only soft white and the dancing lights above their heads.

The Squire recognized no person within the sways of glimmering dresses and smartly dressed gabardine and silk. Guest from the other Kingdom, he supposed. All nobles were invited, including the people of their own city, those who could attend.

There was not a single soul he could point out and smile in recognition to. Heck, had it not been the crests on the chests of the few men in the room, he would not have known they were His Majesty's Vassals. He only met Sir Martin and Sir Epstein; the rest were mere faces in a crowd.

Standing with the Advisor struck him odd, but His Majesty hadn't given his word of objection to it, seemingly uncaring of where he stood. Lady Ono announced the arrival of the Prince and the King as they appeared from the stairway above as she and the Squire were on the lower floor.

The Prince stayed with his father as courtesy as the Powell family's arrival was coming a little later than they expected. His father was not bothered, smiling at the crowd with a wave of his hand, greeting all before announcing to enjoy themselves to the fullest, and to bestow honour, a toast to the return of his son. The Squire was beckoned to stand beside the stair-step where the Prince stood, and with blinking eyes, he gave the Advisor a hand gesture to confirm her request. When she nodded, he went under the staircase to meet his Prince.

The staircase was not attached to the walls, casting a shadow under the floor beneath it, but the bulbs of light on the ceiling of the lower floor allowed this shadow to fade into a small shade.

A moment after this announcement, another heralded its way in. It was a Scribe of the foreign Kingdom, belonging to the Powell family. At the call of the young Scribe, all of the people came to a pause, lining up and throwing themselves in a bow in greeting as the Powell Royals entered. The Squire and Advisor too, offered a bow in greeting as the King and Queen approached, their little daughter following behind with a couple of guards.

As he couldn't see those entered, the Prince was left to greeting them with his father, the King. Mimicking his gesture, he brought a hand up with a smile, brightening his forlorn features.

"Alf, my good friend." The King greeted warmly, with a smile that spread all over him like a ray of light. It was a rather strange contrast from John's father who dulled in that radiant presence, despite smiling the same as he was greeting an old and long friend.

"Charles! My greeting to you."

King Powell cast a glance down at the Prince next to his father, warmth not dimming but studying him with intrigue.

"So, this is your strapping young lad? He's very handsome, I must say."

Oh gosh, John hated how nervous he was feeling. Why at a time like this he was feeling like he wanted to rip out the eyes of the King who was studying him like an exhibit rather than a fellow human being he could interact with. He was not some animal that was put on sale! He's a Prince that will reign over England in a couple of years.

"He is," his father resisted a laugh, glancing at his son for a second before returning the sentiment, focused on the woman who appeared more willing to cover herself with her father's cape rather than show herself. "Let us see your shy fair lass."

"Of course! Cyn, come up closer. This is the Prince I was telling you about." The change in tone with the King had John resisting a laugh. He was trying to sound authoritative, collected and strong, but when it came to address his daughter, it was like talking to a child under ten. Soft, sweet and almost goofy.

Her hesitation, her need to calculate every move before she made them reminded him of Paul. Even though it was the first time he was seeing her, he could sense the need to be sure of everything before taking a step forward. Assessing that there was nothing more she could do, she slipped a step away from her father's cape, revealing the baby pink dress that dressed all over her, spilling to the floor beautifully.

And even though John couldn't see every feature as a painter would when making his illustrations, he immediately noted how lovely she is. Cyn, her father called her, allowed her blonde locks to softly adorn her shoulders in a slight wave, some curled to the back with many pins glimmering with fake diamonds. She was not a prim and petite as the birds he's seen when sneaking through Paul's fairy-tale books to tease him, and not like the stocky women who've lived life and toughened up due to pressure and struggle.

She was right in between it all. She didn't have dainty features that would break if John cracked a bad joke. It was a stretch of a comment, but she resembled John quite a bit! Her cheeks were puffy and squishable, her nose long enough to see, lips in a frown that the he found would be gorgeous if smiling, eyes lined with kohl and bright, but not big and unassuming as the Squire who kept himself a good couple of steps back.

While surveying her, he made sure not to stare too long at her body, but he did make a quick note on how it was great. It was not rail-thin with only having her breasts stand out or her swishing hips as the other birds he could see in the large room. If anything, for a Princess, she was quite ordinary looking, and he fell very hard for that. He loved that she was not some dolled up, perfect woman to his unruly and pillar-like self.

Facing John, she offered a curtsy, with John bowing back with a smile, welcoming her.

"A pleasure to have you here, M'lady." And he meant every word. Her presence was warm and kind, with a little hesitation that he would like to remove.

"The sentiment is shared, M'lord." Ah, there the smile was. Mission accomplished.

Golly, he now hoped that his judgment was sound: she was a good woman. Her heart was on her sleeve—well, she wasn't wearing sleeves so perhaps he should say gloves that extended above her elbows, a pale white. He didn't care if she was not the best example of a woman in the eyes of the noble family, she was beautiful to him.

The two glanced up at their fathers who were both swallowed in conversation. Finding that they couldn't—rather, had no need to address them, they resumed their interaction, although it was grooved with fidgeting and overall lack of social skills.

"So, I guess we have to dance like the others in here?" John started, turning his gaze to Paul for a second, who beckoned him with those big hazel eyes to take her hand and flow in the moment. He hated how his tone was the same as kernels of corn under the mallet.

"Yes, it seems. We could try and get to know each other before our fathers force us to.."

How he felt both the Advisor and Squire watching them put his hairs up and wrattled with nerves. He could've sworn it would be a lot easier if they could stop treating them like experiments!

Whipping a glare back, he found that the Squire was not focused on him, rather, he was with Sir Epstein who was informing him something with a smile, the Advisor not too far off. He didn't know the context, but with the way they were pointing at the crests on their chests, it had nothing to do with neither the Prince nor the Princess.

There was no one but their own fears that was glancing at them, waiting to laugh at their failure.

Swallowing an awkward lump in his throat, he continued, "there's this speech thing we're supposed to do, is that after a dance?"

"We were supposed to address our people a couple of minutes ago," she answered with a smile that told the Prince she was feeling the same as he was; uncomfortable and tongue-tied.

It was then he couldn't resist a jest.

"And our daddies said we'd be the ones who make mistakes, look at them now, off schedule." He made sure she was the only one who got to hear it, inching closer but not too close to touch.

He didn't know it was possible to enjoy anything within the Kingdom other than the cute Squire who was supporting him on the sidelines but having the Princess laugh was pouring warmth into him as a kind soup on a cold day. He wanted her to laugh more, break into unsightly snorts and guffaw rather than shivers of little giggles.

"By the way, we haven't introduced ourselves yet!" she hushed her little giggles, but the smile stayed, along with the slight flush of her cheeks, "I'm Cynthia."

"And I'm John. You probably heard His Majesty say that." He extended his hand to her, smiling a bit more when she shook her head to his statement. She must've practiced being oblivious to the matters of the Lennon family since their son was said to be gone for training for a couple of years.

It was very well done, for John was fooled, believing her every word that her body spoke. Then again... the body reveals more truths than the silver tongues they all possess, and with the way Cynthia presented herself, it was as earnest as it could be. Nothing was hidden in a cloak of mystery as the Advisor Ono, rather, it was out there in the front and Cynthia was covering it up with the prettiest of dress and finesse.

It was rather cute.

"I haven't. It is nice to finally meet you."

He gave a little nod instead of superficially saying, 'the same to you'.

Perhaps it was impolite for him to ignore the Prince as he was sharing a word with the Princess, but the Squire figured his cautious gaze only served as a bother to the boy who knew what he was supposed to do. He didn't need to be held by the hand on every step of his way, he was no baby. He is a Prince who has been trained for years and years that have gone by, nothing that would appear in this lavish golds and silvers would surprise the either of them.

They've read upon scenarios with the figureheads of Royalty and how their trial called their lives go. John didn't need Paul to be gesturing from the back, filling his mouth with words when he had the capability to think and speak. He decided he should leave him some time to breathe before it all comes down on him once again.

The Advisor that stood beside His Majesty thought the same. When the two Kings got occupied in a friendly meeting, she stepped away from him, going under the staircase and tapping the Squire on the shoulder to divert his attention from the four.

"I think you have realized that it was only people of the two Kingdoms that were.. invited here, do you not?"

Giving a glance around the wide space, his eyes rested upon Ono in affirmation.

"Mm. Lady Ono, I also note that the ballroom is heavily guarded," while she was giving an attempt at small talk, the amount of guards that were almost covering each crevice of the marble walls had the Squire feeling a bit claustrophobic.

Any move he would do felt like it was going to cost his head, just one step would have a blade at his neck, framed a traitor for committing treason.

"We are not aware of what is to come."

It had him bite his lip, hands bunching to themselves and clenching tight. Eyeing the balcony, he asked.

"Has it happened before?"

"None that I have known.. it is my first time witnessing this too." The Squire hated to be one to judge a character without giving them a chance to display their good side, but this lack of knowledge that Lady Ono portrayed at certain moments threw him off the edge every time. Her lips, so bashful and withdrawn let out timid replies, but eyes so deep and abysmal told him another story. She recognized what he didn't and every counter to his attempt to elicit such information.

Even small talk was an adventure with her. He could never tell what she really knows!

"We are only making sure..."

"Sure of who, John? Or of me?"

At this, Lady Ono smiled small, shaking her head.

"Please steady yourself, Sir Paul, you're very tense." The matter of fact tone had him blinking, realizing that if he was going to clench his fists or bite his lips more, he would shed blood. Perhaps, the only one he should be concerned of is he himself. He hurt himself before the battle began. "It is neither of you."

He smiled wryly.

"Apologies, once more, Lady Ono. It's just..." he can completely understand why they would be wary of the two. He wanted to be upfront about the fact that it was a fine reason, he wouldn't disapprove of the caution they wore around two children who merely returned a day ago from their old lifestyle. They had to make sure the two would not mess things up.

It was completely understandable.

"We could not keep Prince John's return private," Lady Ono elaborated, smiling small but warm. "If anything, we are worried that someone might've snuck in to make an attempt on their heads."

"I would never let them get close..."

Lady Ono's smile grew a bit around the corners. "I know, but what can you do? Die for him and make him wish he died with you?"

"No! I meant..."

"You do not possess the skills to protect him," her sinewy hand tapped onto the hilt of the metallic blade on her waist, "it's a very heavy burden to carry, and your shoulders are too narrow, Sir Paul."

"I can train with Sir Martin or someone." His attempt on reasoning were feeble, but he was testing the waters, trying to find somewhere that he could reach, somewhere he could step in somehow.

"Today, Sir Paul."

He ceased all incoming words of brevity.

"We are here to protect Prince John," she repressed a giggle, "and you."

But the Squire's gaze travelled elsewhere.

"Does His Majesty know who I am?"

Lady Ono's gaze followed his, glancing at the King who was still engrossed in conversation with the other King, leaving the Prince and Princess to a little talk of their own, tension finally leaving their shoulders as they chuckled along to a comment by the boy.

"By now, he should."

"By now?"

To keep from rousing their attention, the two met each's gazes.

"Anyone could be named Paul or have grace as you did. You were a wee baby to him."

To hear 'a wee baby' in her soft shrill had him resist another laugh. It was strangely cute for someone who had the presence of an executioner. Perhaps, it was his own fear that told him she was a thorn in his side, she hadn't shown a sign that differed from Miss Higgins who, with those silver gloved hands, raised up to giggle, eyes full to the brim with the need to investigate, tinges of disbelief and questions unspoken.

His gut had him high-strung, giving all the mistrustful eye in the belief that they were all after John, the Prince who suddenly returned and will now play the Crown Prince. There was no way they were going to accept him without an objection, did people believe when a holy man claimed to be the messenger of God? Hell no.

He feared that John could too, be crucified if his actions warrant it. No one would look back or stand in front of him in defence. Nay, they would spit upon him.

"He's better off not knowing."

It truly was. If no one would acknowledge that the current Page of the Prince, his instructor and closest kin was the fallen Prince, he could walk freely without persecution, he could placate the Prince at his worst, step in as the personal Advisor for him where there was a need for decision making. There would be not a lick of suspicion in the people, they would never have the idea that he was waiting for the perfect chance to take the Throne for himself, as his was taken away by the ones unknown.

The Irish Prince was better off dead.

"Better off not knowing.. you do realize that would make me believe that.." Lady Ono's hushed tone lowered to a murmur. She was trying as much as she could to keep it all between the two and no one more, but also not allow onlookers seeing the two together, engrossed in conversation.

At least, the Squire was doing a good job at helping her, keeping a good distance and not meeting her eyes when the two shared huffs of silence.

Finding her thoughts align, she continued.

"Believe that.. you are finding a way to regain what you've lost." When the Squire's lips parted, not to snide a reply, but to bite his tongue, she shook her head, inky strands shifting slow, but flowing near her cheeks, "but that's just a silly assumption. I know for sure you are not that kind. You don't possess those eyes that would hurt someone you care for."

"Am I that readable?" in a mumble similar to hers, he inquired with a small nibble of his lower lip.

"No.. you're just honest."

The two gazed over to the fathers who were now watching their children enveloping their hands in one hold, small smiles gracing their lips as they decided to take the floor. The Advisor was watching for a cue from the King in case they had to reposition themselves. In case the King needed to have a word with the Advisor, she would have to dismiss the Squire to the crowd, keep him away from the conference.

Not because he wasn't welcome, but because it was not in his "place" to sit in the meeting. It was between the highest of nobility, and while Lady Ono knows of his true nature, the others do not, nor does the Squire want it known.

It seemed that they wanted to enjoy the night some more.

"I would suggest you greet some of the people surrounding us. Get to know who serves us, and who we serve."

With a smile, her body bent into a little bow before she left the Squire to address the Vassals close by. Defenders, Knights and Guards surrounded the halls to ensure the safety of those residing.

It was a while after the Advisor left the Squire's side when he stood by one of the silver embellished walls, little hand curling around a round glass of crimson liquid that he hadn't touched. His grip was not as steady on the glass as would a person enjoying a hearty drink, or one who had been deprived of a drink, but it was enough a hold that wouldn't cause the contents to spill.

Glancing absentmindedly at the people swaying on the marble grounds, he couldn't shake off the feeling that there was someone, or some people, who were leering glares at the Prince, and not the kind where it is out of envy or jealousy, but with an intent to harm or maim him. His nerves were pulled too high for him to allow himself a sip of the wine.

He didn't need more to raise his spirits but lower them to cease from jumping to wrong conclusions.

Perhaps, this unfamiliarity was oozing through the atmosphere and Lady Ono caught onto it without a hint of effort that she sent him to "mingle". It was laid out in the open as a book that couldn't be ignored.. must've been bothersome. He was grateful that she sent him to be around the very individuals—if he were to serve the Prince when he becomes King, he would need to know every person that lived in England to know who to trust.

He almost swore under his breath. He's wary of the Advisor and yet, she was helping them in an indirect manner.

Shaking his head a couple of times, he let his mind wander with a whiff of the sweetened drink in the glass. He had no intention on drinking it, but he couldn't refuse an offer from a kind attendant who was serving each guest with a glass. The scarlet liquid swayed in its holder as he wobbled the glass in a small swing, tipping it in the motion of a metronome, mindlessly glancing at it as if it was to rise up and devour him.

In a capricious sort of way, it was how he viewed Lady Ono. A calm presence that had his nerves springing up despite the lack of harm she imposes, and yet.. if he drops his guard and allows her to act at her own discretion, she might eat him alive. Then again... the hue of the wine, the strong crimson was too radiant for a gloomy, solemn figure as Lady Ono. Unlike the wine, she hid her fangs, choose to seep slow like a poison, making the victim unsure if they were even harmed by it in the first place.

The strength, the brightness, the brilliance... it was the same as John.

The Prince's presence was strong, broad and authoritative, even if he lacked the traits when he was alone. His personality so bright and full, there was so much to explore—every time one would think they know him, boom! They missed a detail. His role in life, a Prince who was going to save England from an impending storm that was to come, by standing by the Scottish nobility, he was going to join the two nations under one flag.

Simply amazing.

Another thought about John came to his mind, despite the overflowing praise.

-x-

_"Hey Paulie,"_

_Although he wanted to ignore the Prince for use of that silly nickname, he figured it was far too late for that. He didn't stop him all these years ago, why now? He glanced up to meet the Prince's eyes, hoping he was giving him a good smile. Still finding himself reeling on the frights of their future plans, he wasn't sure if he was able to indulge the Prince if he was asked a question he couldn't answer._

_"Do I have to love this Princess bird?" with the weak tone he let those words out, Paul found himself resisting a frown. He couldn't speak out of experience, couldn't answer it in the context of the happiness of fairy-tales—not that John wants sugary sweet responses as it is, but he knew there were political reasons why most happened._

_"That would depend on you. There is such thing as marriage without love."_

_"I don't want to hurt her if she's good.." Oh John.. sweet John. The pain in his voice was evident, barking up a tree he knew far too well. John didn't want to do what his parents did, see how well he turned out. Tossed here and there before they decided that they still care for him. How could he tell if it was real now as it was before they separated?_

_For all Paul knew, John must've felt that they had not a shred of love between them, and to him._

_Brows furrowing a bit, he had to give it some consideration before replying. He too, wasn't all sure how it worked with loving someone, but he knew that it wasn't good to play with the feelings of others. That much, he could advise._

_"If you don't love her, don't give her a false hope to have her insinuate that you do."_

_Finally, those beautiful almond eyes met his, and with peripheral vision, saw the Prince take his hand and enclosing around his, guarding him from those who longed for it. The feather-light grip tightened but not painfully._

_Rather, he was showing how he would hold the Princess' dainty hand._

_"I will have to dance with her," John inched closer, but Paul wasn't bothered knowing that is just what John does. They've danced together before, and each time, the boy pulled him closer and closer, but not enough for their chest to touch. Paul merely held a breath._

_"whisper sweet nothings into her ear," then his head came to a rest near his shoulder, soft breath into his ear as he continued, "and kiss her when she asks me to."_

_"What are you trying to say, John?" his query came in a breathless motion, having stood so close to John, he could almost hear the beats of his heart, so vigorous yet nervous, the pulse in his hand winking, tapping quicker and quicker. "You will love her when you meet her, I'm sure of it."_

_"I know, but I..."_

_He feared what was to come next. John was not going to do this to her, not to himself._

_If he froze for a second more, he wouldn't have been able to stop the Prince from doing what he would later regret. If he hadn't brought a finger to those lips that were so close to brushing along his, it would've been their end._

_Paul swallowed uncertainly, smiling wryly with eyes wide, bringing a pale, shaking finger to the Prince's lips before they could make contact. The surprise written in John's eyes were not what he wanted to witness, those eyes that were gleaming in rejection, with a sort of betrayal of his heart. Shuddering a breath out, Paul broke the silence creeping in._

_"Let's not practice such intimacies, John.. keep it for your lover." He tried to smile brighter, but those eyes didn't shift, didn't blink away the hurt in them. It was wrong, far too wrong. "You don't want to be used goods to her. It's unfair."_

_Paul missed the murmur, 'but what if it's you I want?'_

\--

He couldn't say that it didn't boggle his mind every time he took a glance at the Prince. How much of a mistake that would've been. He had to choose a Mistress to be held in matrimony, and that being the Princess of Scotland for what he believes to be an alliance. It was a political banquet, this was. While the Prince and the Princess are to enjoy the festivity with their people, they were to have a meeting after their little moment of basking in the festivity.

If John soiled his lips or heart with Paul, he would have to die. And he couldn't allow that, not after all their work.

Even if it meant receiving that woeful stare. He wasn't even sure why the Prince was behaving as if he wasn't supposed to be stopped. They were only friends, nothing more than that. He was guiding the Prince how to hold himself, but romance was out of the question for the two of them.

Not that he didn't love the Prince. No no.. he loved him so dearly, but he wasn't _in love_. Not now.. not while he still has self-control. He couldn't allow himself to fall for him, nor for the Prince to misunderstand their brotherhood as something more. With the way he was drawn to the Princess, the Squire found that his hypothesis was right.

John did not meet girls his age, none would come his way, so Cynthia was truly his first. Paul could see how he couldn't keep his gaze away from her, wide and glimmering with utter fascination.

Letting the dizzy glass rest upon the silver table, he watched the Prince with a small smile, relief washing over him and holding him close. He hadn't spoken a word to the Princess, but he could sense it in the air, the way the Prince loosened his posture in front of her, movement smoother than he was when he entered the hall told the Squire enough of her character. She kept her shy eyes upon the Prince, smile evident on her features.

The Squire wasn't sure what he was to do if they did not click like puzzle pieces. What would the Kings do if they could not come to terms with it? Would they declare war? Would the Prince...

Would John have to fight Cynthia? Meet the fate his family did when they were attacked by greed? Fingers curling into the palm, nails not long enough to draw blood but make little crescents onto the skin, Paul had to shake his head for the third time, snapping out of the worst case scenario. If he's not careful, it would sound like he wants that.

He never wants John in the claws of harm.

The walls were too long, too spacious for him, it was stretching his mind apart, pulling and pulling until he would burst. He needed to leave the place, retreat to a place that didn't make him feel too big nor too small. It was too much lavish thrown upon him in a matter of a day and he couldn't adjust to the blearing lights that dropped all over, illuminating each corner and ridding of any shadow.

He couldn't focus, concentrate on one detail for the other would slap his face to pay attention to the other, and the other dragging along, tugging at his wrists, some grasping his leg and yanking over...

He needed to be outside, alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, and sorry to keep you waiting.


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